Babylon 5: Crusade
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: Part 8 of the Babylon 5 Alternate Universe. Years have passed since Sheridan's death at the Second Battle of the Artifact and the Terran Empire enjoys a new age of justice. But the Hand still remains; ever determined to take convert or destroy all men and women of all races with their own doctrines. And without the Sheridan, they may not be stopped.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The ship shuddered as another hit rammed into it, causing the whole bridge to shake violently. Screams and shouts filled the whole of the ship, the man running down the corridor to the bridge. His orders had been clear and prompt. Get to the bridge. Tell them what's going on down here.

A Human Remnant officer was being helped off the bridge, her leg obviously broken. He patted her on the shoulder as he moved to the side, the woman looking up with a grimace of pain, her teeth clenched. He moved past her turning to the side to allow someone else through the doorway, walked onto the bridge and put his hand on the rail. Wow, that had been quiet a run!

"Captain!" he called out, and the Captain, who was standing next to a monitor turned to him. "The engines are fragged sir. We got about a dozen injured down below."

"The engins are not fragged, Ensign Gideon," Captain Ross said, moving through the smoke that filled the bridge. "But we do have heavy damage on the exterior of the ship on the engines. Take an EVA team and go outside and fix them. The attackers have fallen back, but I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

"Right sir," he nodded. He turned and ran from the bridge, heading to where he knew the airlock was.

* * *

"Tell me honestly, sir," the crewman said, moving towards one of three major breaches in the engine casing, "You wouldn't know what do do without me, would you?"

Matthew Gideon rolled his eyes. The crewman was a good natured soul. He was recently transferred to the RSS _Cerberus_, a top secret Remnant vessel assigned to make sneak attacks on Minbari outposts and search out new allies. Unlike it's sister ship the _Agamemnon_ which was famous by Captain Sheridan, the _Cerberus_ was meant to operate in total secrecy, to the point that they never made radio contact and would only take on crew that were assigned to "die" on their various postings, so they could be snuck onboard to serve, it was that classified of an operation.

"Believe me," he replied, "I'd celebrate and dance on your grave."

"Naw," he said, his grey EVA suit slowly moving as he gripped the edge of the breach, "I bet you think of me at night when everyone else is sleeping."

"Keep dreaming crewman," he snorted, floating about a dozen feet from the ships side.

"They're coming back!" the weapons officer reported, the bridge crew turning to him. "Extreme weapons range. Holy crap! ETA one minute!"

Captain Ross growled. Man, these b-ds were fast! They had no time to lose. Obviously whoever they were, they weren't Minbari, nor were they anything else they had ever encountered. And that wasn't a good sign.

"Make the jump to hyperspace now!" he ordered, making determined strides to his captains chair and sitting down, "we don't have time to waste."

"But the repairs crew," his second said, the man looking concerned.

Ross shook his head. There was no way they could pull them into the ship before they left. Ten men lost for a hundred survived? That was a matter of cold hard math. And the math was an unforgiving mistress.

"Acceptable losses," he said, although he didn't like to say the words.

"Wait," the crewman said, "The engines are powering up!"

"What?" Gideon asked. They hadn't hardly started repairs. What was Captain Ross doing? He pressed a button on his helmet to switch the comm system from inter-squad channel to main channel, "CIC, what are you doing?"

"_They're coming back, and we got to leave now!"_

He looked at the crew man and towards the five other two-men crew that were already working. We're they really going to leave him and his crew out here? No! That was unacceptable.

"We are still..." he began when the ship yanked forward, the crewman attached to the ship being whirled around by the sudden acceleration and smashing into the ship. There was a splatter of blood in the crewman's helmet that had been next to him, and the outer-visor of the helmet broke, the dead crewman's features freezing in the subzero temperatures of space.

The ship surged forward, and a scream filled Gideon's mind. He grabbed both sides of his helmet as if he could stop the screams by this action. But he couldn't. Not could he stop the pattern of purple bolts that slammed into the ship.

The ship began to rupture, the bolts slicing into the ship and inturn blooms of fire which was combustible oxygen lit the darkness. He could hear screams on the channel, until with a burst of static that hurt his ears, it went quiet. Materials of the ship were thrown from it, but the ship was continually hammered by the ship, which swung around. Screaming continually filled his mind. The ship looked like one of those ancient tractor plows, and it seemed to be plowing into the already dying hull of the ship. Then, one last shot, and the ship vanished, flying through the fireball of the _Cerberus_.

"No!" he shouted, as the fireball dissipated. In it's wake, were dozens of pieces of the ship, and smaller fires of burning cables and weapons that were being exploded by the heat of the still red-hot fragments of the ship.

Hours passed. Each minute dragged out an eternity. He couldn't move, the boosters on his personal rocket-pack broken, an occasional spark flying from it. But even if they had been working; what then? Where was he to go? The closest planet was at sub-light speed a year away.

His suit was fouled with feces and piss which were stored in a small bag which was used to break down the molecules and recycle them as breathable air. Except for a small problem. That was broken as well.

His body hung in a vacuum of space, unable to move anywhere. He waved his arms, almost imagining he was in water, and not in a void of black. Oh, there were stars. Heavens above, he never knew just how many stars there were. Until that was all the company he saw. The only witnesses to his trails.

He looked around, and spotted something moving. There was a fleet of ship, black and triangle in shape. They were flying by, no less than a couple dozen kilometers away. In the empty space between stars and planets, even something a lightyear away could be seen when unhindered. He pushed the comm button to open up a channel.

"This is Ensign Matthew Gideon of Human Remnant Forces calling the passing ships," he called out, his breath coming in small gasps. "My ship was destroyed. I only have half an hour of air left. Please, help me."

The ships kept moving. There was no indication that they had heard him. He frowned. Surely they heard him.

"Is this thing transmitting?" he muttered, glancing at the side of his helmet. A small indicator light showed that indeed, he was transmitting. The transponder was working.

"Please," he said, begging, "I realize I'm out of your way. But I don't want to die out here. I am Ensign Matthew Gideon of Remnant Force. Come save me, I don't have a lot, but I can pay you what I do have!"

The ships continued on their journey, now reaching the maximum range of his small transponder. Panic filled him. The idea of being alone, dying due to asphyxiation, it was far too much to bear.

"No! Don't, don't leave me!" he began to scream into the communicator, "Wait! No, come back!"

"_Target is out of range_," the computer in the helmet warned him, "_Danger, oxygen supply down to twenty minutes._"

Hopelessness and despair filled him. He was going to die out here. Alone. This...couldn't be. Where was the compassion in these beings? There had been a dozen ships, surely one of them could have been made to help.

"Don't go," he whispered.

He sensed more than knew that something was behind him. He turned his body slowly, the motion slowly making him spin. There, like a shark was a ship. It was hovering, as if unsure what to make of this small creature. He recognized the configuration. It was the same type of ship that had passed him by.

"Please," he begged, "Help me."

The ship turned slowly in place and he was afraid it was going to take off without him. Soon it was facing away from him, and tears began to fill his eyes. He was going to be...saved? He saw a light appear and he could see a small hatch drop. The ship backed up ever so slowly, and soon, it was within range to grab. He grabbed it, like a man grabbing a life raft and pulled himself. Up, up he pulled.

When he was more or less fully on the ramp, it raised up, and closed. Not even waiting for the computer to say whether it was safe to breath or not, he popped the helmet off and took in deep breaths. It was so good to actually breath in air. He looked around, noting how sparsely decorated the ship was, and a man, balding stood at the front of the ship.

"Tha-thank you," he said, trying to stand, only to learn he was unable to.

"Sleep now," the person said, in a very theatrical voice, "You will be safe here, from all your pains and trials."

* * *

"I do not understand your reasons, Galen," Elric said, sitting with legs crossed in a separate compartment of the ship. "It is not our place to get involved with the dealings of those not of the Order."

"It is not good to continually turn our back on everyone that needs help," Galen replied, staring down at his mentor and trainer.

Elric had saved him after his parents had died. A street rat that he turned into a techno-mage. Those who used technology to impersonate magic. He respected the hard faced techno-mage, but he knew this man was a hard-headed and stubborn fool that could and was wrong from time to time.

"There is no reason to show mercy to those who do not appreciate the mercy shown them," the mage replied, his glare making it more poignant how terrible he believed saving the man was.

"But is not the responsibilty of power and wisdom to show mercy to those who could benefit from it?" Galen asked, "This is my ship, and I choose whom we need to save."

Elric closed his eyes. Clearly he did not agree, but there was no point in arguing the facts. He shook his head and Galen left him. He reached up to his forehead and rubbed it, wondering what exactly Galen had gotten them into.


	2. By Lights Unholy Power

**Chapter 1: By Lights Unholy Power**

The Imperial capitol had been moved to Centauri Prime, by order of the Centauri Emperor, Vir Cotto. He had a double responsibility, one few could ever quiet comprehend. Not only was he in charge of running the entire Terran Empire, he was also responsible for the day-to-day runnings of the Centauri Republic. He probably could have declined, but Lord-General Jonah Marrago had made it quiet clear that they would support no other ruler. He would not be responsible for allowing the great Terran Empire to descend into a bloody civil war.

Not when the Hand was still a mighty threat to everything in the galaxy. But he couldn't serve the Empire on Babylon 5. There were too many ghosts, so he allowed it to be the headquarters of the Imperial Military. He reasoned that it would be wiser to keep the power from all being in one place.

But for all his power, he couldn't even keep himself from falling to the throne. Deep snores carried throughout the throne room, carrying into the hall beyond. His head sagged into his chest, his Imperial creamy-white robes soft and helping his slumber. His court, disgruntled at yet another sleep period during an important meeting.

His snoring caught as something hard tapped his chest. He continued to sleep, until he was being shaken by something hard. His eyes slowly opened, the sunlight of the day's waning hours lighting the room. He looked up, and saw the long face and wavy hair of a man whom he admired. Someone who had come to his rescue and saved him when he first arrived on Minbar back in the day when he was a simple minister to the Minbari.

"Hello Gideon," he said sleepily, rubbing at his eyes, "How long have you been here?"

"Oh," the man said, "Not long."

The man stood above Vir. Even if he had been standing Matthew Gideon would have towered over him. He wore form hugging black leather, and in his hand he held a staff. On the staff were engraved carvings. Vir had never known what they were, but he didn't feel like asking.

"It's been terrible lonesome," Vir admitted, pushing himself off the cushioned chair and stretching, his back popping as if the vertebrae were locks being slid into place. "Where have you been?"

"I've had business that needed attending too." Gideon said, glancing around. "But I have returned, and I need your help."

Vir looked sidelong at him as he walked across the room and towards the windows. He pulled back the curtains, feeling the eyes of the ever watchful guard. Across the fine city of Imperial glory his eyes swept, every building restored to it's pre-Occupation status. And in many cases grown to throw the old works into a pale light.

"I doubt I could help you," he said, leaning against the windowsill, birds chirping. There was a cold bite in the air. Winter was coming on, probably would start snowing in a few days. "I rule an empire that spans dozens of races and worlds, and grows daily as people flee the Hand and other less than savory individuals. I have learned to...what's the human expression? Wing it. Go with the flow."

"It is the Hand that I come to you to discuss," Gideon said, "I might not be an all seer, but I know that things aren't going so well on the borders. They are starting to erode. You might have noticed that the Earth Alliance is slowly refusing to do more and more for the good of the Empire? And the Narn Regime is ready to strike out on their own, the consequences be d-ned."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" he asked, Vir looked up at his old friend. "It's not like the Conspiracy of Light where I had freer movement."

"You must convince them for a final offensive," Gideon told him, "I know where the Hand is located in this galaxy, and where we can utterly defeat the Hand and vanquish them from our galaxy forever. But we must move now. There is little time to lose."

* * *

The moonlight beamed into the chamber, the round window letting it fall in a circle on the floor. If one looked up towards the window, they could have seen the moon clearly, as if it were the window and not merely seen through it. Stars twinkled around the wall; a panorama of mystical orbs, each one a flickering candle on the table of eternity.

In center of the moon circle on the floor sat a figure, hood pulled high over his head. His legs were drawn beneath him and he sat on them. His arms were splayed to the side with his palms facing up. Black leather held him tight.

Deep ran the currents of moonlight into the eternal soul that was housed by the tabernacle of flesh. One might wonder if he were hoping to channel the moonlight into some forgotten spell. Indeed, around the edge of the circle words were forming. The language was of an ancient tongue, no longer spoken in this galaxy.

"It is time."

The man kneeling on the floor look up. The words were not spoken by any in the room. True words...they were not. It was as a whisper, being spoken on the wind. The brush of a thought upon all creation. Few of the younger races could hear it. And if they did, they'd wonder at the slight disturbance of their rest, and then go about their business.

"The Younger Races must find their own way now."

Tears filled his eyes. They were words he had hoped to never be spoken in his lifetime. The webs of creation seemed to be holding their breath, awaiting some final proclamation of doom.

"We go our own way, beyond the Rift."

And with that, the universe sighed. There was gone the feeling of antiquity that had stood in the foundations of the universe for so long. Now, only the young spring trees, sapling of a latter day planting now stood. The walls and parapets were gone, leaving only the fortress within.

"Eldest," he said remorsefully, grabbing his hood and removing it. His mostly bald head reflected the moonlight, making what had been a column of light into a starlight iris in a white pupil.

The Eldest was gone, and with him went the First Ones. No more Vorlons. The shadows would no longer move. No more footprints in the sand. It was all so very sad.

"Galen," a nervous voice said.

"I heard," he sighed, "The First Ones are gone. Now we are alone. And it could not have come at a worse time."

He looked over at the man he had saved all those years ago. He had taken to his role as technomage without remorse or wish for recompense. Elric had not approved the man, but he had been proven wrong. He had proved a worthy addition to the ranks of the technomages.

"So," Galen said, standing up slowly, his knees popping as he made the movement, "Did you talking with dear Emperor Cotto?"

Gideon nodded. "I am sure he'll do his best," he replied, "There's just so much going on, I think he feels overwhelmed."

Galen snorted, his staff appearing in his hand and planting the end on the ground. Small fingers of electricity shot from it onto the floor, where it dissipated around his feet. He was sure there was a mystical meaning in the movement. He glanced up at the moon, feeling the light of it caress his face.

"When is he not overwhelmed?" he asked gruffly, heading out from the circle of light, the words that circled the circle shattering as he passed through them.

* * *

The sound of children rang into the office and the doors burst open as three children, none older than eight ran into the room, laughing as they made a beeline to their father. David Corwin looked up from the paper he was reading, another article of superficial good news and sultry doom intermixed in cruel irony. He barely had time though to make the movement before they jumped into the chair, all three children trying to fit. He grunted as his oldest child slammed into his stomach.

"What are you children doing up?" he asked, looking at each of his brown haired children.

"We don't wanna go to sleep," the oldest child said.

He looked at the other children, noticing that they all were nodding their heads. His youngest, she looked up with him with puppy eyes to melt the soul. But, he was going to have none of that.

"You all have a big day tomorrow," he said, standing up and the motion sending the two youngest rolling onto the floor while the oldest clung to him, her fingernails digging into him as she laughed. "Bedtime."

"Exactly!" the tall blond woman who happened to be their mother said, following them into the room. Her hands were on her hips and a cold look in her eyes. "We are going to visit Aunt Jamie tomorrow. And we need to leave at eight in the morning."

"Is 8 a long time away?" their son asked, looking up at her. He was clearly puzzled at the numbers.

"Longer than you'll like if you don't go to bed right this minute mister!" she said, coming behind them and scooting them all towards their rooms. The father griped his daughters fingers and pried them loose, letting go of his bruising arm.

"Better do what Mommy says," he counseled her, "Or else Daddy will get put on time out."

"I want my own room," she whined, her father steering her towards her room and the stairs that would lead to them.

"Well Bridget," he replied, sighing, "I don't get my own room either. Unless Mommy doesn't like Daddy. Then I get the whole living room to myself."

About an hour passed and he was laying in bed, lights turned off. Felicity had decided to get some last minute preparations done for their trip and so he spent the time staring at the ceiling of the master bedroom. He had read recently that "Master Bedroom" was sexist so they were wanting to change it to a more gender neutral name. Which he assumed was absolutely dumb and not necessary, but what did he know?

The room of the door opened, and in walked his wife.

"Look and behold," he said, as she began getting undressed and changing into bed wear, "A woman comes stealing into my room. And lo, she looks like my wife. God is good."

The stuffed animal caught him flat on the nose. It bounced off, and he chuckled as Felicity lifted the covers and slid into the bed next to him. She laid with her face away from him, the cloth of her pajamas touching his shirtless torso.

"It's not God you're married to though," she reminded him, grabbing his hand and pulling his arm over her shoulder, "Otherwise, he would have given you a swift kick to the pants a long time ago. No matter that you are President."

"I prefer hot blonds," he growled in her ear, kissing it. "So, you excited? You haven't seen your sister in three years now. She hasn't even met Susan."

"And you haven't seen her in a longer time," she reminded him, turning her head slightly to him, "You ended up being called away to Centauri Prime to help the government of the Empire being moved there."

"Yeah," he grunted, remembering none too fondly the events that had kept him from his family. What he hadn't told them was that he never really went to Centauri Prime. "We'll make it together this time. Come Hell or high water."

"Liar," she teased, "Come on now, time to sleep. Early morning tomorrow."

Felicity fell asleep a lot faster than he did. He laid awake, her body a comfort to him. His dreams had been so dark of late. What was the point of it all? He was the President of the Earth Alliance. But he knew he must keep them back. Not go to war for the Empire. His mind knew it was wrong to withhold the needed aid, but in his heart, a sickness was growing. He knew not where it was. But an influence was showing him the truth.

"You're not asleep?" a voice asked him, and he looked up, seeing that woman again.

From behind the curtains of the window she stepped out. She stood at the foot of his bed, looking kindly at him. As soon as he saw her, all concerns melted away, left only with the truth. The truth that she was the only one that loved him. All others just wanted his power.

"Yes, Lotaria," he said, the woman before him wearing a black dress that was form fitting. "My dreams...I'm haunted by them."

She put a hand on his covered foot. The very act brought him comfort and a thrill. One that could not be easily explained or dismissed. It was as if these feelings were being planted inside him and being allowed to grow. Grow into what, who could say?

"Dreams are only meant to serve as unconscious reminders of whats important to us," she comforted him, "Do not worry my love. Worry about them not."

He looked at her, and wondered why she had chosen him. Out of the billions she could have visited and chosen to have her love, why had he been chosen? How could he have been blessed by such a sweet spirit? It seemed too unfathomable to imagine.

"Why do you have to leave me?" he asked, and she smiled at him. "I don't remember you when you leave, and it feels like a lie."

She was now sitting by him. She had not moved around the bed, but had just appeared that way. He was used to it now. Lotaria had a special gift for being where she wanted to be. He wished he had that gift.

"There are reasons we must meet this way," she said, "But don't worry David. Soon, it shall become clear to you."

"When?" he asked, almost begging, "I want to understand."

"In good time," she smiled, and then there was a knock at the door.

His eyes snapped open, not realizing he had fallen asleep. He looked up at the door and Felicity muttered something in her sleep. The door opened cautiously and a head poked in. It was Theresa Howard, his Vice President. She was waving to him to come out into the hallway.

Sighing, he kissed his wife on the back of the head, then slowly moving out of bed, slipped into some slipper and throwing on a cotton robe, stepped out into the hallway, his VP closing the door behind him. Theresa looked at him, her sharp eyes made even sharper by her pulled back blond hair.

"You look terrible," she said in a low voice and he blinked at her, "Are you getting good sleep?"

He thought back on the night, and didn't remember anything besides staring up at the wall. Heck, he didn't remember any dreams. Not of family, friends or even ones about purple ponies eating fire-breathing dragons.

"It's one of those nights," he muttered, scratching his nose which suddenly had an itch, "What can I do for you?"

"The Durkanis are making unprovoked aggression against our border of the Empire," she informed him, "They believe we are continuing to contaminate their culture. And unless we are able to pacify them, we'll have another war on our hands."

"Great," he rolled his eyes, "Just what we need. I wish it were the old days."

"Sir?" she asked, frowning in confusion, "Why would you want the old days? We were the scum of the Centauri, the Minbari were gearing up to annihilate us."

"Yes," he said, accepting those facts, "But we didn't have to deal with these Durkanis."


	3. We of a Ruined Past

**Chapter 2: We of a Ruined Past**

"Ever notice how silent it is in here?" the voice asked, and the young woman turned to see the young man. He sat with his legs on the table, his chair pushed back ever so slightly off the floor, a book in his hand. He looked at her though, awaiting her response.

"This is a library, David," she reminded him, watching as their daughter played with a stack of blocks in the corner. The child clapped her hands and her mouth burbled out bubbles as she talked her toddler talk. "It's supposed to be quiet."

He rubbed his chin, thinking about that. The planet was unnamed, the inhabitants having abandoned it over five centuries beforehand. The architecture was not anything they had ever seen before. The columns were all made to resemble vortexes, with the top wide and the bottom very narrow. The ceiling was curved with many curves up. All the tables were built from the floor up, and they were shaped like cut trees.

In some ways, David was reminded of a forest. And that was not the only building shaped to fit nature. Houses were built to reflect mountains or hills. The roads were cut to remind on of flowing rivers, with bumps and rises similar to currents. The old rusty big weapons that surrounded the abandoned city looked like beehives hanging from tree-limbs that could be turned in any direction.

"Still too quiet," he finally said, making her roll her eyes.

There was a thump and they didn't look up at a pak'ma'ra and a Minbari slid down a rope to the floor. Why they didn't just go to the door was anyone's guess, but no one was. The pak'ma'ra dusted himself off and inclined his head towards David.

"Still no sign of him," he reported.

"Yeah," the Minbari sniffed, "Tirk and Na'feel are up there now, and I swear the Narn is going to go crazy and eat Tirk."

David let his head roll to his side and look at them, an annoyed expression in his glance. The Minbari was a new addition to their small order. They were outcast Anla'Shok, having been thrown out of the order after a failed mercy mission. Now, they were their own Ranger order. They called themselves the 'Rangers of Valen'. Unlike the heavy brown robes that the Anla'Shok wore, they instead donned red robes.

"I doubt that," he snorted, letting his chair drop firmly back on the ground and swing his legs around to set his feet on the floor. He stood up, looking at both Rangers. "He'll be here. Just takes him time."

"And he's really your friend?" the Minbari asked, "Must be some friend."

"Believe me," Sarah said, her daughter wobbling over to her on her legs, still unsure on her pudgy legs, "In some ways, he's much better than you are most of the time. Both as a friend and as a Ranger."

* * *

The winds howled over the massive ravine, the gusts pushing back young Malcolm against the cliff-face. He was the only one qualified enough to make this venture. Okay...let's be honest. He was the most expendable one that might actually et the job done.

Three weeks ago they had all landed on this planet, sent here by dear old Galen. He really hated technomages. They cheated in so many ways. How many got to play around with magic? An unfair advantage,

A small trail along the cliff-face led down further into the ravine, and the sun was beginning to set. There would be no point in going after nightfall. But, he had come so far, and despite the narrowness of the way, he was determined to reach the bottom. Once at the bottom, he'd be able to contact base. The rocks that made the rock face were of a mineral that disrupted communications. Didn't short out anything, but blocked any signal leaving or going.

He stepped up to a bulge in the rock face, and on faith he pressed forward, having to keep himself with his back tightly to the wall and turn his feet so they also pressed long-wise against the cliff. He reached the bulge and the began to move around, when the rocks began to crumble beneath him. In panic he tried to push around, only to loose his footing entirely as his foot slipped off into thin air and he began to fall sideways.

Only to find himself getting slammed into the rockface. His face was smooshed against the rock, but he could hear and feel heavy breathing on his cheek. His peripheral vision showed him nothing, but the hands gripped him and pulled him away from the cliff, until he ws hanging in the air. He could feel nothing underneath his feet, and he turned his head, to see a human holding him, floating in the air.

"What do you want boy?" the man snarled, heavy whiskers bedazzling his chin, and the hair on his head cropped short. His eyes were black, and his skin a cold clammy wax feel to them. "Why risk you the treacherous way?"

"I was told to look for something," Malcolm said, hoping he was simply dreaming. The wind was getting frightfully cold, and he was very aware of the six hundred feet plummet to his death.

"I'd say you found something," the man said, glaring at him, "I have no time no desire for people walking into my ravine."

"But I search for man who is supposed to be in the ravine," Malcolm replied.

The man smirked, and only then did Malcolm notice the clothes he was wearing. They were heavy robes, with green gems on them. They were clasped to his throat, keeping his robes and cloak together. He also wore a sword at his side, a curved affair with the grip wrapped in silver snakes.

"And who is this man you seek?" he asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. "The Minbari also traveled her once, looking for a man. But guess what? Even if there were a man, who is to say he would want to see you?"

Malcolm shrugged as best as he could in the vice-like grip on his arms. "I'm sure we'd have to ask him," he said, to which the man grunted. "After you set me down of course."

* * *

The lights of the cave flickered, as Malcolm followed the man into the deeper recesses of the ravine. All light had failed outside, and he knew the rest of the Rangers would be anxious at his absence. He had tried to contact them as soon as the man had set him down, but he found himself unable to make such a call. He assumed it was the man blocking his ability to communicate with his friends and comrades.

Further he followed the man, the tunnels seeming to get smaller and smaller as he moved. But they really weren't getting smaller. They just weren't getting bigger either. It was all a trick of the mind, but wherever the man before him went, so he went too.

At long last they entered a chamber of the cave, to see a massive orangish wall. It seemed to be humming with power. It was over-layed with stone-like webs that ran down to a central location. In this was a man-sized compartment, and in that compartment was a man. He was a Minbari, and by his appearance he could have been no older than fifty Minbari cycles.

"I am Draal," a voice said, and he turned to see a holographic version of the man appear before him. "Welcome to the Heart of the Great Machine."

* * *

There was many things he hated. Long lines in diners when he was hungry. A hangnail that hurt like the dickens. Tell people standing next to him, making him feel like a midget. And really annoying mundanes.

"Mr. Bester," the Narn butler said, an odd sight in such a place, "President Corwin will meet you in the office."

"Thank you," Alfred Bester replied, although he had heard the words in the aliens mind long before he actually spoke them aloud. His right hand was stuck in the folds of his black leather uniform, hiding some of the deformity. Sheridan hadn't been the only thing lost at the Second Battle of the Artifact. A more frightful blow had been his hand, shriveled to look like a prune. The hand was useless, and he refused to allow anyone to see him with a weakness.

He followed the Narn across the room, heading towards the office. The Presidential Mansion was nothing to be excited about, David Corwin having insisted on only enough furnishings for comfort but not enough to be cumbersome. They walked across the room, and he could hear the mental whisperings of the maid, thinking very dirty thoughts at the moment. He looked over at her, a short Hispanic woman who quiet clearly had a thing for the President, even if she knew that it could never be.

They approached the door and the Narn stepped in, announcing Bester's arrival. He heard the man accept him and ask him to come in. He stepped around the Narn and into the room, glancing at the glass panes on the door. He looked over at Corwin, sitting back in his seat, looking absolutely drained. He frowned.

"Are you alright, Mr. President?" he asked, "You look like a ghost."

Corwin shook his head, his eyes only half-focusing. "I am good," he said, waving his hand in dismissal of any concerns the small man had. "I've just been up since early this morning. D-n Durkanis are threatening us again. I am guessing they just haven't figured out that without weapons, their ships are really no match for even a Starfury."

Bester nodded, listening to the man talk. Liar, he thought to himself. The man was absolutely exhausted. He then felt something. A whispering that was strangely dark for such a light-hearted place. He looked around, but saw no one. It was there however, lurking in the shadows. A dark spot on the sun. The feeling of close that one had when they were looking at something in the dark closer than the rest of their surrounding.

A sick feeling was entering his stomach and he tried even harder to find the mind, stretching out with his mind. But the closer he got to whatever it was, the colder it got and the more nauseous he became. Soon his head was reeling and his nostrils felt as if something were burning the hairs of his nose and for an instant, he found it.

Images of death, rotting flesh and rape filled his mind. Dark fires burning bones. Skulls, looking out emptily as snakes crawled over them. Smoke from fires billowing into the sky. Burning figures roaring in pain. He grabbed his head, building the walls of his mind.

"Mr. Bester?" Corwin asked, frowning.

"Hm?" Bester asked, turning to him. His hands were not on his head, and the feeling had disappeared. It was as if it had been a dream.

"I just asked what brings you here?" Corwin said, reminding him, "Did you not hear me?"

Bester thought for a second. "No," he said, "Forgive me."

"Have a seat," he waved to the seat, which Bester took without adieu. "So, again. What brings you here?"

Bester took a second to collect his thoughts. For a second he had totally forgotten everything he had been here for. But then it came back and he rubbed the side of his head with his left hand.

"The Emperor wants to know why you are withholding the Alliances military from helping along the front lines," he asked, lightly tapping his leg with his fist.

"It's been over twenty years since the war with the Hand began," Corwin shrugged, "I don't see why we need to continue fighting in it."

Bester cocked an eyebrow. "Oh really?" he asked, "Our lines are barely holding as they are. They are barbarians at the gates. We need to get rid of them. Now, the Emperor has a plan to end this war. It is your duty to help him."

"I didn't realize you were some sort of inquisitor," Corwin snorted, but the light-hearted mood was being replaced by a shrill anger. "I have done everything I can to fight the lies. I have even lost my dearest friends to it."

"It is for them we fight," he reminded him, surprised at the wrath twisting his face. "To avenge them and preserve their legacy. The families of them and the families of the families depend upon us staying the course."

"I know my duty!" he was nearly screaming at Bester, "Now leave! Or else I will throw you out."

Bester looked at him, bewildered by the sudden anger. He had barely begun talking to him. The Hand was vile and evil. Why was he freaking out like this. Slowly he stood up, and with a bob of his head turned and began to leave. As he approached the door, he saw something at the edge of his vision and glanced back. There an amazing woman stood, a creature of perfect beauty. She was smiling at him.

"He belongs to the Hand now," she said in his mind. "And I am his keeper. Leave now, or you shall die."

His mind became flooded with images of water, filth flowing with it. He grimaced and backed away, holding his hand to his head, using the physical touch to help center his thoughts. He moved towards the door, staggering as he went, bumping into a table. He turned and headed across the room to the front door, moving as fast as he could go. Reaching the door the Narn opened it and he left the building, tripping as he stepped down the small flight of stairs. The images of filth followed him until he was in the transport, flying towards the inner city of Rome.

He slumped into his seat, the reason for everything that was happening falling into perfect place. Lifting up a hand held communications PADD, he pushed a button and a link was established. The Imperial logo was replaced with a Minbari female.

"Get me the High Ranger Council," he ordered, "I need to speak to them immediately."


	4. Border Wars

**Chapter 3: Border Wars**

Few understood that other wars existed beyond the great war between the Terran Empire and the Hand. Few realized that beyond the confines of the Empire, other kingdoms still did their own business, caring not for the larger affairs of the galaxy. One of these was the Interstellar Alliance. The Interstellar Alliance was a confederation of several races, built from those who fled from the tyranny of John Sheridan and allied themselves together. And thus came into contact with races that all they dreamed of was the conquest of others.

The Alliance had given birth to twenty years of unbridled passion, advancing the technological realm of the human knowledge. Who had known that a bunch of rebels fleeing from the Terran Empire could have pulled this all together?

A man named James Osteen dashed through the streets, his boots splashing in thick pools of water and blaster fire sounding throughout the rain. He didn't dare stop or turn around. In his time he had been to a lot of parties. But the "party" he had just left had been a little much even for him.

Rain poured down upon the city, drenching everything and turning the dirt streets in a mud pit. His uniform was soaked through and through and a constant stream poured from the lip of his helmet, giving the impression of a weak waterfall. The wet clothes wore him down ever so much more so with every second as he got more tired and the clothes seemed to grasp at the water that fell.

He glanced back and forth and his eyes took in the scenes of carnage that was around him. Bodies were piled throughout the streets, either in full or in torn, ragged pieces, scattered through the way. Some were propped up against walls. Some were laid out on the ground, stretching for only what their mind could see. And yet some had become covered in so much mud it was incredibly hard to recognize them for what they were. The waterlogged bodies were bloated from the water and many were in various states of decomposition.

Buildings that once stood in beautiful marble glory were now blackened by fire or shattered into small pieces by heavy artillery or handheld grenade or missile explosives. Pieces of rubble were strewn on the street, and the buildings seemed to have opened their mouths to beckon him in. Or seemed caves that offered a sense of false security.

He had been told to avoid the buildings when he had first arrived. That the Oriances were not the nice and civil people the brochures made them out to be. Dureena Nafeel was the great leader of the planet, and she promised to make anyone not Oriances pay for coming on their world. And he had witnessed first-hand what they did to soldiers who seemed to them to have so much in the way of material goods.

If his boots didn't have anti-suction technology built into them, they would have been pulled off by the sixteen inches of mud that he now fought through to get to the Second Battalion HQ in the northern district of the city. He had to get there, to report the loss of his 500 man platoon in the first twelve minutes of the third assault of the sixth day of this battle. But it was still a good mile away.

He heard a whizzing sound in the air, and turned his head to see the fiery tail of a rocket as it arched up into the air and reaching its climax before it turned downwards and began spiraling towards him. Oh blast, he cursed as he turned on his heel towards a small alleyway and dashed towards it.

On second thought, perhaps turning so fast had not been the greatest of ideas. Sure, the mud was deep but it was also slippery and his foot slid out from under him and he fell face down into the mud. He lifted his head and shook it, mud flying from his face. He had not time to recollect himself though.

The whirring of the rocket picked up in pitch as it came closer to its target area, and with a grunt he pushed himself up and tried again, his muscles burning in protest as he dashed towards the entrance to the alleyway. He had barely entered before two big hands grabbed him and pulled him into the relative safety of a pile of boxes. He had no time to acknowledge his rescue as just at that moment the missile landed in roared in a fiery eruption that threw mud up in the air, and blasted the walls around the crater.

His mind flashed to civilians pulling his men and slitting their throats to plunder them and he wrapped his fingers around his serrated Kavar knife and drawing it out swung his hand back but the hands stopped it and the man said, "I'm military! Not civilian. You have no need to fear me."

He didn't have time to argue as he could hear for a couple seconds the walls of one of the buildings he was near crumble and collapse. He took a few shaky breaths, feeling the mud on his face.

He could not lay about long though. Coughing up blood as he tried to stand, he was not feeling the best. But for a second weariness over came him, and he pushed himself into a sitting position. Leaning back against the wall, he wiped his face with his wet gloves.

"You going to put down that frog sticker, Sergeant?" the man who had saved him asked.

He took a look back and turned his gaze towards the man. True enough, by his black and green uniform and black helmet it showed he was not only military but also a marine. He looked at the knife and with a slow motion reversed his grip and pointed the blade down and away. There was an unspoken relaxing of both men as the one realized he was in no danger and the other that he wasn't going to be killed. At least not yet.

"Who are you, soldier?" he finally asked.

"Miles Hangerston, Private, Allied Marines," the soldier said, "And you Sergeant?"

"James Osteen," he addressed himself, "7th Platoon, 2nd Battalion."

"They're up at the waterfront," Hangerston remarked with a frown, "What are you doing back here?"

"I am the 7th," he remarked sullenly and Hangerston shook his head, "And you? Aren't the Allied Marines supposed to be holding this city?"

"I am the only marine left of my company as well," he spat what looked like a wad of cheap tobacco, "Got overrun nearly three hours ago. They hit us hard and followed the survivors out of the city and into the countryside. That proved in my mind that we won't be able to hold here. We should pull out. Leave this rock to the Humari."

"I don't make the orders," he rolled his eyes, "But Hangerston, I wholeheartedly agree. I don't know who I hate more on this planet, the Humari or the murdering civilians."

Another explosion roared out in the distance, and he shuddered as rain began to seep through the overhead ledge and fall on his lap. The only consultation of the whole thing was the rain wasn't cold. He glanced up and saw a Humari fighter speed past the area.

"Well," he said, pushing himself upright off of the wall, "let us go, Private First Class Miles Hangerston, Marine Corps. And propose a full out withdrawal from this planet."

As he said that, his wrist comlink beeped. He tapped it and heard, "All Alliance troops. Withdraw to the Promegas and the Ollander. Repeat, all Alliance. Withdraw to the Promegas and the Ollander."

He threw up his head and laughed out loud. So, someone on high had actually heard him. If he knew which religion was the right one, he would offer up a pray of thanks according to that religion to whatever god or goddess or deity they worshiped. But, meanwhile, he turned to the Marine, who also cracked a wide smile.

"Let's go," he said, and with that, they rushed out of the alleyway.

* * *

Back on the Ollander, Admiral Jonah stood on the command bridge, arms folded. He could see even through the darkened torrents of rain troops beating it double time to get onto the ship. He watched as a few slipped on the wet grass and mud and fell onto the mud. As he looked upon them, his mind wandered. Thoughts too far beyond the grasp and experience of these Milky Wayers, as he called those who were born of this galaxy, were his.

He had known this had been a bad place to make a stand. He had said over and over again that Oriances 5 was not a place worth defending. Should have joined the forces around Gendar. But no, once again, the Admiralty had dismissed it as foolish. Gendar is too strong, they had said. The defenses there could not be broken. Fleets aplenty they had to defend the place.

And yet, what news had just reached him? The defenses that could not be broken were broken. The planet Gendar which could not fall had fallen. The extermination of the Gelf population already in progress from the Firebirds. Those which looked like ships of the Galactic Order, shaped as the lovely phoenix; that were in truth nothing more than heat-seeking nuclear missiles.

Sooner or later they would have to start listening to his ideas. He; who had lived longer than any living sentient being in the whole Alliance, who looked upon his two hundredth birthday as a time when he was young. But times changed, and despite having seen so much of the Universe, realized nothing remained for him beyond this Alliance.

No, he could not return home. To Andromeda, the galaxy closest to here. So, he must do his best here. He had to save the Alliance from their own lies and self-deceptions.

He had learned to love the Alliance. He had arrived in the galaxy when the Alliance was still nothing but a bunch of squabbling states that had no allegiance to each other, and watched as the people rose up and overthrew the cruel divisions that divided them. It had astonished his that there was a people who could defy the natural order and actually thrive. Yes, he much preferred the form of democratic government they had set up, with Presidents and Senators. Which actually gave voice to the people.

"Any news from Melvatro Superia, Mr. Clark?" he asked the human at the communications display, which was a projection that was emanated from two small projectors, one on the floor and one on the ceiling, which between them stood a projection of reports that scrolled through at a fast rate.

"There are confused reports," the man replied, his eyes scanning the vast reports and tapping the stream to slow down certain reports, "They say the enemy fleet has splintered into three smaller forces, heading off in three trajectories."

"Where?" he asked.

"Proximus, Nywst and New Asia," he said after taking a quick glance.

"They aren't after any of them," Jonah said without so much as giving a second to thinking about it, "They are heading straight for Melvatro Superia. In ten minutes we leave."

A silence fell on the bridge. Everyone turned their gaze towards the Admiral. They were stunned by the order, never dreaming he would give such a one. Was the Admiral losing his mind?

"But we won't be able to get everyone on board within that time," his second in command, Captain Yark pointed out. He was a Titan. They were a proud race of big brutes that had brown skin and twin curved horns protruding from their skulls.

"They are heading for Melvatro Superia itself!" Jonah said, not turning towards him,

"They are trying to divide our forces before they hit us. One of the oldest strategies in military history."

"But sir-"

Jonah turned his head slowly to him, his glowing white eyes with no pupils flashing slightly as he looked at him. Yark took a few halting steps backwards. When the Admiral spoke next, it came slowly, in a voice that was not the calm serine voice they adored, but the voice of a man of wisdom, passed down from worlds they had no name for. A voice that terrified them, for it was as if all the commanders and philosophers and scientists and heroes and legends spoke in one single moment.

"The most basic lesson for any commander," he said, "Is some must be sacrificed, for all to be saved. If you cannot stand that Captain, I suggest you yourself stay behind by yourself. The military will be better off."

Yark lowered his head and said, "I am sorry, sir. I just want to bring all the boys home. Leave no man behind. But, I trust you enough to follow your orders."

Jonah stared at him for a couple seconds more. A deeper silence reined on the bridge since before it's construction. Their very heartbeats could almost have been heard if one but listened. Then a smile played across his face and he said, "There may be hope for you yet, Captain."

* * *

Hangerston and James ran down the street, slipping and falling from time to time. Dodging rubble here and there, it reminded James slightly of a ridiculous marathon. A marathon he would have preferred not being a part of.

Their sides burned with pain as they ran, having run now for three miles. They were trying to reach Greenstone City, where the two ships were grounded. Soon they reached the edge of the city and as they were lurched past the last building to the landing field of grass and mud. Then, they watched to their utter horror that no less than a hundred yards away their race had been lost.

The two ships were shaped like two boxes. The front square and the rear one rectangular, and they were connected by a rectangular midsection that connected the aft and front sections together. Their engines roared to life and slowly rose off the ground. There had been so few steps between them and their goal, and yet they had never felt so distant.

"No!" Miles shouted and ran out into the field. James cursed and followed him, and saw twelve other Allied soldiers coming from the town, their voices shouting.

All were shouting in unison for them to stop and wait. But the ships kept ascending. And even as they rose, Order fighters, triangular in shape, peppered them, and the anti-fighter guns on the ship boomed into life, hitting a few but not all of them. Soon, the ships were gone, and all that remained were some very angry soldiers, some who threw their guns or helmets or packs (or all three) onto the ground.

James wiped the sweat off his chin. The rain was letting up, almost mocking them for their efforts. This was not good. He had to find who was top rank here.

"Alright," he called out, "Are there any commissioned officers here?"

"No," one of the men said, "We are from Twelfth Platoon, 3rd Battalion and our officers were all killed. We were clear out near the Koblik River when the order was given."

"Great," he rolled his eyes, "I am Sergeant James Osteen, 7th Platoon, 2nd Battalion. It looks like I am in charge."

"What are we going to do, Sergeant?" another of the soldiers asked, taking off her helmet and marching up to him, "Tell me. We are alone on a planet overrun by the Galactic Order. And you heard the tales of what the Humari do to their prisoners."

"I've heard the tales," he shrugged, "And until I see with my own eyes, I don't buy them."

"Where did they go anyways?" another soldier asked, "The ships I mean?"

"I don't know," he admitted to them, "But consider this: Admiral Jonah has intuition. If he left us here, it has to be something of great import."

"Greater then leaving us?" the woman asked with a snort, "Jonah must be a crack pot."

The entire group stopped and turned to her in shock. Who was she to question Jonah? Jonah had never been anything but a great leader. He had never led them astray, and even when ordered to, he tried to get as many of them out alive as possible. And she was speaking ill of him?

"Who are you?" he asked coldly, glaring at her, "I want your name and rank."

"Jane Ryan," she replied, "TeleCorps, Telekinetic Division."

TeleCorps was an organization set up in the image of the old Psi-Corps. No matter the great claims of their leaders that they were nothing like the old Earth Alliance or the Human Remnant afterwards, they still seemed to be unwilling to completely let go of the past.

"You are a kenny?" Miles asked, "What are you doing here among us normals?"

She turned a cold glare at Miles. "We have to spend six months serving in a branch of the military," she said, looking away from him at James, "As part of our training. This was my second week. Your Admiral Jonah led us here to this death trap."

"You say that again I swear I will-" Miles strode forward, his fist clenching in rage.

"Stand fast Private Hangerston!" James shouted, and seeing the unrest and hatred directed at her by the other soldiers, pointed at them and yelled, "You too soldiers!"

He then grabbed her by the front of her jacket and drew her close to him until they were almost touching each-other's nose and said, "You listen to me! I will only tell you this once. You haven't been with us normals long enough to realize this but if anyone can save this Alliance, its White Eyes. That's what we call him.'

"If this had been his place where he had chosen to fight, those Humari would be wiped out. But he is a soldier, like the rest of us. And believe me when I say any other Admiral would have gotten his whole command wiped out the first two days here. Next time you say anything bad about him, I'll let the boys have fun with you. You aren't full-fledged soldier, you are a telepath. Always taking advantage over everyone. But you step out of line again; they'll be the ones taking the advantage. Understood?"

She glared at him and whispered, "Fire."

He let go of her in pain, the hairs on his hand erupting in flame. He shoved his hand into the mud and extinguished the flame with the water in the mud before it could wrap around his hand. He looked up at her as a wicked grin spread across her face. She turned then gasped as they heard the thud of laser hitting the body and she toppled backwards, struck in middle of her chest.

James shouted, "Defensive positions!" as he saw hundreds of Humari soldiers, in their shiny breastplate uniforms and helmets, and several hovercraft, armed to the teeth with rapid-firing laser machine guns, come out of the forest to their left and from the town to their right. The soldiers with him formed a loose circle, lying down in the mud, or kneeling. But although they aimed bravely with their assault rifles, not a one had a grenade launcher or an energy bazooka on hand. They would be made easy work.

"Throw down your weapons!" a voice boomed out across the fields, "And you will not be harmed."

"Sergeant," Miles asked, "We are in trouble now, aren't we?"

* * *

Admiral Kyle Guimarez of the Fifth Fleet had been hiding in this hyperspace lane for seven hours now, after getting word from Admiral Jonah of the attempt to divide the Alliance forces and draw them away from the true target. Terra Nova: Melvatro Superia itself, the seat of Political, Financial and Military power in the Interstellar Alliance. He was going to trap the Humarian fleet here, in this Hyperspace Lane 77, the fastest and only Hyperspace route from Oriances 5 to Melvatro Superia.

He strode across the command bridge of his flagship, the Ares, that Greek God who rode off to war in a chariot and returned from battle with blood-soaked spear. Unlike the triple box shaped Alliance-Class Heavy Cruisers, the Imperial-Class Destroyers (of which the Ares was the forerunner) were of a more sleek design, built to resemble the ancient ironclad ships of the short-lived Confederate States of America, which had themselves been called a barn roof on a platform. With nine heavy laser guns, and seventeen anti-fighter guns, they could slice through most ships with relative ease, and even once the triple shielding failed, the metal of the hull could absorb up to seventy-five percent of all power that struck it.

With seventeen decks, it was smaller than the twenty-one decks the Alliance classes had. And it also required only 1,300 maintenance and 700 crew while the Alliance needed 2,200 maintenance and 1100 crew to run the ship. But, the Imperial Class carried a bigger wallop for the buck, and Guimarez was more than a little itchy to get into a fight and let the ship receive its first baptism of fire. And with a fleet of twelve Alliance and six Imperial class ships, he was secure in the knowledge of his own power and might.

Stopping by a replicator near his Admiral chair, he grabbed a cup of herbal tea, green and black teas always having the unfortunate side effect of making him break out in unsightly rashes in unsightly regions of the body. Holding the steaming cup between his hands, he sipped a bit of the steamy flavored water through pursed lips, and then sat down in his chair. In thirty minutes, he would catch them in his trap.

"Sir," the Gelf comm officer, a long lanky fellow like the rest of his kind and pointed ears called out from his station, "Violet Priority Signal from Melvatro Superia."

"What?" he barked, spinning his chair around to stare at the officer, "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir," he nodded with whitening face, "Hyperspace Jump points opening up around Jupiter/Mars Defense Grid. They say Humari Fleet has arrived in force."

"Turn this ship around!" he barked to the helm officer, a Prox female, with hair that was like a fuzzy afro, "They have hyperspace engines installed on their ships. That is the only way they could bypass us! D-n Intelligence! I had no idea the Order had actually invested its resources to adding that feature to their capitol ships. Get us to the Terran System now!"

* * *

The defense platforms that made up the Ares Defense Grid were energy barriers, connected by nodes that acted as conduits. The energy barrier acted as a mirror, and it could ricochet any energy that was fired at it away. Almost on top of this barrier had jumped out the fleet of the Galactic Order; race Humari.

The Galactic Order was nearly three thousand years old, stretching across a hundred star systems. It was a behemoth, devoted to a warriors-ideolgy. War was the product of a new era.

The first ships to jump out were the Annihilator-Class Heavy Cruisers. The Annihilator was shaped like a sword, a thin hull which ran back to the rear where the bridge was, which rose slightly over the main hull, and sections jutted sideways out much like the guard on a sword, with the engines representing the swords handle. The first three of the ships that jumped in out of hyperspace were too close to the energy barrier, and one of its unique features was activated. Energy surged forth and exploded out, rupturing hulls and leaving floating wreckage and bodies floating in space.

Several ships stopped barely within inches and it was only the quick thinking of the captains and crew that saved them from smashing into the barriers, only to be struck from behind as more ships came out and plowed through them.

The second wave made up of thirteen jumped in now, these ships were the Emperor-Class Dreadnaughts. Unmanned, and with automated systems, these ship were made out of one hundred feet thick lead. They were so thick that they could not be destroyed by the electrical discharges that shot from the barrier. They were aimed straight at the nodes and plunged into them, ramming them and shattering the nodes, opening up a gap wide enough for the other ships to pass with ease. Their jobs now accomplished, the Dreadnaughts shut down, the energy required to do even the one task having drained their massive power capacities.

One hundred capitol ships now poured through the gap, more ships popping out of hyperspace. The Annihilators were joined by the Conquest-Class fighter platforms, carrying only minimal armaments to allow the most amounts of Tri-fighters to be put on board. Both ships belched out their complements of fighters, and aimed straight for the blue planet, third planet from the systems sun.

Out from behind the planet Ares came out the Ares/Melvatro Superia Defense Fleet, better known as Home Fleet. It was made up of seventeen Alliance-Classes, twelve Imperial-Classes, and seven Garplo-Class Cruisers, which were shaped like massive mining drills that had what were called Vulcan-laser cannons, sixteen barreled laser cannons that when arrayed like they were on the Garplo Cruisers, with sixteen guns that were evenly spaced along the circumference of the shield part, turned it into a massive Vulcan-laser cannons. These, along with the seventy-one missile platforms surrounding Melvatro Superia, made up the last line of defense against the invading horde.

* * *

Guimarez sat bent, resting his chin on his fists, really wishing they would get out of hyperspace soon. Reports had spiked for nine minutes, as Supreme Commander Pollox from his command ship Achilles had made contact with the enemy. From even his initial contact with the enemy it was clear how desperate the fighting really was. He had at once sent a call for every ship in a dozen light-years even if it didn't have guns, to help thwart the enemy onslaught, which outnumbered him over four to one.

After a while, the first wave they said had been wiped out, with the Humari following their 'no retreat' motto. Guimarez had breathed a sigh of relief but almost immediately reports went out of another wave, three times the size of the first force jumping out right in the midst of the fleet. At that moment which has been a mere two minutes ago, all communications with the Supreme Commander went blank.

The suspense was so hard on Guimarez that he jumped up from his seat and turning to the comm called out, "Is any other fleets on their way?"

"The Tenth reports they have sent three Legacy-Class ships to go join from his position at the front lines at Telmun VII," he reported, "And the Fourth have sent fourteen Alliance-Classes from the star base at Astarte. And Admiral Jonah is on his way with his two ships from Oriances 5."

"They'll get there just in time to break up the feasting of the enemy," he ground his teeth, "Are we approaching there yet, Helm?"

"Arriving at hyperspace lane exit in three…two…one," the helm reported from his station and with that last the fleet slid out of hyperspace.

Never had they imagined a more terrible scene. What greeted them as they entered the system was a scene of chaos and ferocity. Pieces of hundreds of ships slowly spiraled in space, and the purple laser fire of the Order and the green of the Alliance lit up the space between Melvatro Superia's moon and Ares. But the fighting was in pockets, and spread out, as the Order had used it superior numbers to burst through the defending fleet, and then isolate smaller portions, where it could easily pick them off.

"Sir!" the comm called out, "Jump points forming around us."

And out of hyperspace came the nineteen ships they had not even suspected to be close yet and a voice came over the battle channels, "This is Admiral Jonah. I am taking command of the fleet. Deploy fighters and follow me into the fire."

"Open a channel!" he snapped to communications and after a green signal alerted him he was on he snapped, "Negative. I got here first, Jonah!" But even as he said that, Disaster Sirens came over their boards from Melvatro Superia itself.

"Status!" Guimarez shouted.

The comm officer stared at the display, too stunned to even speak. He repeated the order again, but the man was unhearing of anything around him. D-n it, he snarled to himself and Guimarez charged over to him and shook him.

"What?" he demanded.

He turned to him; pale faced and said, "They have just nuked Nova York City, Nomaga, Freedom and Stenger, United Countries of Uppernoria. Reports are coming in they are bombarding Mass-funcion in the Lowernoria Conglomeration from orbit with mass drivers. Reports also say that New London has also been attacked."

His eyes grew wide and he shouted, "Give me ramming speed! We are taking out these-"

"Sir!" another officer shouted half hysterically, "Sir!"

"What?" he demanded, turning to him, "Better be good news."

"Folds in hyperspace are detected near Jupiter," the officer reported.

Despite the chaos of a crew about to go into battle, the whole command crew stopped and every crew-member looked with ashen faces towards him. Their eyes spoke a hope that it wasn't true.

"Folds?" he asked in a near whisper, "You don't mean?"

"Yes sir," he nodded, eyes wide, "It's the Hand."

At that moment on the edge of their scanners, out of hyperspace twelve new ships appeared on the radar, and as soon as they appeared, the fighting at once stopped around Ares and Melvatro Superia, and at once chatter between the Order's Grand Admiral and Jonah started.

"All ships!" Jonah ordered, "At this moment the war is over between our two governments. You can see that we have a new enemy to face. As of this moment, the Galactic Order and the Interstellar Alliance have united against our most feared enemy. The Hand has invaded."

* * *

The door to the room opened and the Humari officer walked into the cell on Oriances 5, and taking the bag in his hand, threw it to the prisoner. James Osteen didn't want to sound like he wasn't grateful for getting his stuff back but he was surprised. He blinked at the officer.

"Get up," the officer said, "You and the others are free to go."

"What?" he asked, "How is that possible?"

"The war between our two peoples are over now," he said.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything," James said, grabbing the bag and standing up, feeling a little bruised as he did, "But how did this happen? We were at each other's throats not too long ago."

"The Hive has launched an all out invasion on every major power," the officer said, "In one moment, Melvatro Superia, Camaca, Li-Xuan, even our grand capitol of Serpentis Prime were all attacked by Hive forces."

"Really?" James asked; his heart full of something he had not felt in many years, true fear, "Did any of them fall?"

"No," the officer smiled with a fierce pride, "But, the going is tough. At this moment all our forces are being pulled back to Order space."

"We'll get back to our fleet too," he said with a grimace as the pain in his shoulder hit with renewed ferocity, "What a perfect time for them to strike. Just as things are the ugliest around here."

"That's why it happened," the Humari said, his long hair like a waterfall of black water as he turned and stepped outside, leaving the door open for them to leave.


	5. Please No More Fighting

**Chapter 4: Please No More Fighting**

One of many pleasant duties he had as President. And he used the word "pleasant" very lightly. Several delegates of the Dukanis sat across the room from him. Their green skin and pale almost see-through tentacles that dangled from orifices in their heads made them a mixture of completely human and yet completely alien buffet.

"I understand that you claim that you have had absolutely nothing to do with us," the leader, who was smoking through cigarettes like nobody's business, replied to an earlier statement that Corwin had made, "But our populace is afraid you will not keep out of our business. We are prepared to do everything possible to end your incursions into our civilization."

Corwin raised his fingers and pressed them to his temple. The Dukanis were a very paranoid race. They were so paranoid that they had gathered thousands of files on the Human race, indicating them as the causes of everything, from the low point in morality, to the high inflations currently going on. He even heard that "those cursed Outsiders" had even been accused of causing a massive layoff of three billion workers of the nearly sixteen billion on their planet.

If he wasn't a politician, it would offend his sense of honor. But then again, he would have to not be a politician to begin with.

"And I assure you," General Town, the current head of all Earth Force personnel, "We have no desire for war with you. But if we need to, you'll stand no chance against us."

"Earth would be well advised to listen to everything we say," the leader who was Minister of the Defense of the Planet said, "We don't need fancy guns like your people do. We are real warriors."

"Real warriors don't need scapegoats for their own problems," Town replied, his brown face a mask of snide assuredness.

Corwin held up his hands to help calm the two men. They'd not be able to get anywhere in their discussion if they were at each other's throats. There was no need to do anything rash or foolhardy on either side, and they could reach an agreement that was beneficiary to both sides.

"Believe me," he said, drawing the attention of both men to himself, "War is undesirable. And it'd be a mistake for either side."

"How so?" the Minister asked, his suspicion clear.

"It would be a mistake for you since you don't have the means of carrying on an interstellar war and you'd be going up against a race that has had to learn how to fight remorselessly to survive," Corwin explained, hoping his clear logic would find purchase in the Durkanis' mind, "For us, it would be a mistake because we don't have a quarrel with your race, and why would we want to destroy a race that could be the future saviors of the galaxy? Please, let us return to our homes, where we can all decide the best course for our people."

The group stared at him, and he could see them mulling over every word, trying to find some hidden threat or less than well-meaning telepathic influence. He looked at each, hoping to find some measure of reasonability in them. Surely them did not think that war was the best answer to their problems?

Slowly the Minister of Planetary Defense rose and turning to his advisers nodded. They began to move back towards the door, and he looked at Corwin with much doubt. Then, he nodded his head and turning left the room. Corwin felt the build up of nervous anxiety that came from all these types of conversations ease and he allowed himself a small smile.

"I shall consult with my government," he replied, leaving the door open.

Corwin rubbed his face as he stared at the open door. General Town muttered about foolishness and that they were being stupid. Corwin however was not thinking of that. Words were being whispered in his ear. He knew not whom was speaking, but he understood something big was about to happen.

* * *

On the edge of the Galaxy, tucked away from powers that warred for galactic empires and dominions over a thousand worlds was a solar system. There was one star in the system and around that star was one planet. On this single planet were only two cities, each of less than four hundred people and they both rested on the top of two plateaus that were on opposite ends of a single valley. The valley itself was three miles wide and nothing more than a veritable wasteland of sand. No water, not even a single drop of moisture ran through the sand ridden valley. And in the exact middle of this sand barren wasteland was a cave. The cave was one of the few lonely features of the endless sands that revolved around the length of the planet. The planet was like a thousand others, except it was the last depository of an ancient race who had set aside this planet for the amassing of vast amounts of knowledge. Nothing as grand as their imperial libraries on their capitols, but who would look for vast amounts of knowledge on a planet claimed by none?

The people who were native to the planet avoided the cave at all times. Humanoid in appearance with two arms and two legs; they were by no means a very advanced people, afraid of the dangers technology presented to their utopia. But they were never as fearful of anything as they were the cave. There were things there they could not understand, nor did they dare attempt to. They were content to have an understanding that one did not simply approach the cave.

Alone in the cave worked two beings. They always wore long but simple and ordinary brown robes. Plain brown cords tied their robes close around them. In form they were like humans, but, their heads were bald and around their eyes were metallic visors, painted black. For centuries the sinners of their particular civilization were sent here, to guard the cave and the secrets contained within. To preserve the integrity of the whole body, the troublesome parts had to be removed until they were cured from their corruption.

This particular tradition had been handed down by the Technomages back when they were in great numbers. The Shadow had fallen on the people where these sinners came from, so the technomages had come, and they had defeated the darkness. But they still worshiped the darkness, so while they thought it had been to keep the whole of their civilization pure, in reality it was to cull the herds, keep the most violent and dangerous people out of where they could have influenced the people to war against their neighbors.

Nor was this an ordinary library but truth be told a gateway. Of course there was a vast data base that could be accessed in the lower chamber. But this was mainly a gateway that was in the form of a crystal. A crystal which had the power to resurrect a long lost lover, friend, sibling, parent, child or leader. Those who has died the violent death only given on the field of battle. Those who had their lives snuffed out at the end of the long winter of old age. Those who were taken at the very beginning of life or taken by accidents that could not be avoided when life was at its height. This was First One technology, and in the wrong hands, could bring about terrible results.

But the secrets to do this were all but lost to the universe. Very few knew the ancient ways that would ensure the ability to connect to this great power. This greatest and deadliest of powers. Great in the ability to resurrect the dead. Deadliest because of the greatest cost that was required by those who abused the power.

The taller of the two men strode to the back of the cave, and holding up a candle of wax and using the gentle glow of candle light, he began to rummage through a couple of boxes that had been stacked there. The crystal almost was as big as the room so it wasn't easy to get past it to the storage boxes but it could be done. As he squeezed himself into the box to grab what was in the box, the light the crystal always gave off glowed ever so faintly but it was not so faint that he couldn't see. He heeded it no mind though. But, as he rose with the prize in hand from the box, the crystal began to slowly pulse slightly. He stopped in mid-step and turned his head slowly to look upon it.

He slowly turned his whole body and walked close to it. It should not be doing this and he was not sure what was happening. More than a little confused, he turned away from the stone and walked hurriedly over to small console screen on a table in the corner. Placing a palm on the rough wood, he held up a finger of his other hand. He intended to press a small box in the corner of the screen, which would allow him to open a communication link to the home world.

A blood-curdling scream came from the front chamber of the cave. He stopped himself from pressing the button. It couldn't be good at all. Straightening up, he bent slightly backwards to glance out to the chamber. But, there was no noise beyond the scream. That scream had sounded a bit like his companion.

"Kielvon," he called out, "What is it?"

His eyes lay to rest upon Kielvon whose body was turned away from him. But, his feet were no longer on the ground. His body was raised from the ground, held up by an iron spike that sprouted out of his back. Blood flowed from the wound down the poor man's back and dripped to the floor. He had no time to be shocked as the body was then swung aside and the pull of the body flung it to the ground.

In his place was a large man, carrying a long mace with a long spike on the end. That at least explained where the spike had come from to the small robed man. Scars covered his face and arms. His yellowish skin was cracked in placed and his fingernails were broken. One of his eyes had been plucked out and the empty socket had been left exposed, rotting with nonuse and whatever must have been used in the taking his eye from him. His single eye was a ring of fire, threatening to envelope everything.

"Hello," he cackled, blood trickling from the mace, "The Hand requires you to be a good monk. Give me the stone, and you may be left alive. If not….well, I won't be responsible for the mess."

* * *

The body of the monk lied on the ground, stretched out wide-eagled. What had once been a kind face was now eternally etched in stone with terror and pain. Blood drained from shattered visors and his open mouth. Open not only from the shock and pain, but also a broken jaw. Bits of broken teeth lay around him in a bloody splattering on the floor. Blood drenched his robes.

His murderer giggled to himself. There was no remorse for the blood he had spilt. No emotions at all. All he had was the job. Nothing else seemed to exist as far as the man was concerned.

He walked forward towards the crystal. Staggered more adequately described what he did. He never really lifted his feet from the floor, but shuffled along. It took him a couple second to cross the room, but he reached the crystal all the same. The crystal which was the object of the mind. The massive sphere of stone and glass seemed to radiate heat that he could feel on his skin. He needed to get it. He had to break it. Shatter it into a thousand pieces. That was what the voices had told him to do.

Wielding the mace like a club, he swung it as hard as he could. The crystal rang and vibrated as he struck it. The strike nearly tore the mace from his hands and a wave of vibration ran up the metal pole of the mace and into his hands. But insanity is known for endowing inhuman powers to the stricken. He tightened his grip with a cracking of knuckles from the sheer strength behind the motion and laughed even more. Strike after strike he swung. And finally, the crystal began to break and light began to shoot forth.

But it was not enough for this deranged soulless lunatic. What had happened to make him soulless and insane? Who could tell. All that was certain was he needed to grind this crystal into the dust. But for all his need; he had no idea what power he was unleashing with each strike. All he knew was the voices commanded it, and he would do so.

And with each swing he began to more slowly lose his sense of not only time but reality itself. Hundreds of thousands of lives were released from their bonds. They began to swirl not only around him but in his mind. If he had not been insane already, he would have gone mad with the storm of a million voices clamoring for lordship of his mind.

As he stamped on the broken shards and ground them into the floor, the voices whispered it was enough. He dropped backwards on the ground, finally having achieved what he was wanting. He looked up and seeing what he had broken free, he smiled. Pulling a small metallic box from his coat, he clicked a red button on the side.

"Great God of us all" he smiled his voice carrying his jubilation, "I have opened the gateway."

"You have done well," the Great God replied, "And now, sleep and be not troubled for now."

"Thank you," he grinned, "My Lord."

And as the released souls rushed forth, crashing and tearing through manuscripts and data, and rushed out to seek vengeance upon the living, he closed his eyes. To a world of colors that sparkled and swirled in his mind's eye.

* * *

"Why come you to bother Draal in his sanctuary?" the Minbari said, holding his hands before him, looking down on Malcolm, who stood a little smaller than he did.

Malcolm had heard stories of the Great Machine. No one knew the ancient foundation of this city of wondrous technology. Even now as they walked over a bridge that connected the main machine to the rest of the machine, he could see lights running along the entire length of the cavernous depths.

"There is a great war and we need you more than ever," Malcolm said, "It's costing us too much to fight it on our own. The First Ones have left. We are on our own against..."

"The Hand," Draal nodded, "Yes, yes, I know all of that."

Malcolm frowned. "How did you know?" he asked. Draal had been here for years, how could he know the doings of the outside?

Draal laughed aloud. "I destroyed the entire planet of Epsilon 3 to escape death at thier hands and you really think I don't know even the smallest ant on the smallest cargo ship passing the smallest asteroid in the smallest system?"

"Then if you did know all about this," Malcolm asked, moving near the edge of the bridge to look down, "Why haven't you helped us? The galaxy needs the services of the Great Machine."

"Our time has come and gone," Draal shrugged, "We were built for one purpose only. To destroy or at least defeat the Shadow. The Shadows are gone. Our purpose has been fulfilled."

"But what of the innocents in this galaxy that will die at the mercy of the Hand?" he asked, turning away from the fall and moving towards the hologram, "I don't understand your reasons. We still need you."

Draal stood still, thinking for a second. Malcolm could not believe this. The Great Machine was great and powerful. Why would it not be able to help them now? The wars were not over. They needed the help now. Not later.

"Come with me," he said, "There is something you should see."

Draal turned and walked back towards the main chamber of the Great Machine. Sighing, Malcolm followed him, wondering what could possibly be needed to be seen.


	6. Liberation on the Homefront

**Chapter 5: The Devils You Know**

"Shuttle _Klarok_," the flight control navigator in the flight tower said, "We will not lower the invisibility cloak until you transmit your identity code and clearance level."

"_Sending them now_," the voice on the other end of the line replied promptly and the numbers began to pop up on the screen one after the other. The Imperial Flight Control Navigator sat back, his oval shaped black helmet resting on the top of his seat in an odd fashion. His commanding officer, a ramrod back Captain in sable uniform stepped up behind him, his footsteps precise and leaned in.

"What have we got here?" he inquired, putting a hand on the back of the chair.

"Sir, some shuttle wants to land," the navigator said. He shrugged his shoulders, "Seems to know we're here."

"Are those the identity codes?" he asked, tapping the screen on the console.

"Yeah," he nodded his head, the choppy/blocky letters of Galactic Standard scrawling across his screen, "I also decided to ask their clearance level as well. Hope you don't mind that, sir."

"No, no," the Captain shrugged, placing a hand on his subordinates shoulder and turning to leave. Unlike many Imperial commanders, he didn't much care if someone took initiative. "Probably a good idea."

The navigator laid his hands on the console, ready to reject and destroy them out of the sky if needs be. Suddenly the screen started flashing red and green and the navigator said nervously, "Uh...sir?"

The Captain turned and looking at the screen stood stunned, "This is Imperial Level 10 clearance. Who the sith spit has that? Let them land, I got to call this in."

The door flung open, and a black robed figure entered the room. "Peace is undesirable," Lord Verraad said, standing before the Supreme Admiral.

Balan looked up at him, drumming his fingers on his desk. His barrel chest seemed barely contained in the tunic of his uniform as the stress of the fabric suggested. The man's hair was thinning considerably and despite his brilliant maneuvers, was feeling his time for usefulness was coming closer and closer to the end.

"We might not have a choice in the matter," he pointed out, not appreciative of this man bursting in on him.

"We cannot gain the Empire if peace is had," Verraad said, his cloak hiding all but the permanent sneer on his face. "You and I both know this."

Balan folded his arms in disgust. He really hated the idea of sharing power with this Dark Sider. Back in the old days, one didn't need these pathetic Force-wielders to obtain power. But it was an alliance that he needed. He could save the Empire, but only with him at its head. And he'd betray this monster when he had a chance. But, as for now, Verraad had his purposes.

"We can use this to our advantage," he finally said, masking his inner-most thoughts.

"What?" the cloaked man said, his cloak hiding his expressions. He indeed read the Supreme Admiral's mind, and it was plain to him the betrayal. Not that he himself hadn't already been planning on betraying him as soon as the man was not worth his time.

"Peace," Balan clarified.

"Oh really?" he scoffed at the apparent leave of the man's senses, "how?"

"Peace means the Republic will drop its guard," he said, his mind turning, "And then we swoop in, captured Coruscant, and then get the Empire to admit we are smarter than any other choice for Emperor."

Verraad was silent for a minute. There was no way of knowing what the man was thinking, under that hood. Even if he removed it, he was so steeped in the Dark Side that any attempt to see into his mind would have shattered anyone who tried. But he had to agree; this was a practical plan.

"All right," he nodded slowly, "You make a good point. This had better work."

And without so much as a farewell, he turned to leave the office, his cloak bellowing behind him. Balan watched him leave, a sense of gratitude in him. No matter how much he needed Verraad, he was never comfortable around the man.

"Oh," he whispered, "It'll work."

* * *

"This is the most unwise decision you could possibly make," Pealleon growled as Tyron threw on his uniform and prepared to walk out into the night, "Coruscant is not Imperial territory anymore. Your rank will not protect you."

"You worry like a mother bantha," Tyron chided, "Believe me, I have diplomatic immunity."

"The average schmo doesn't care about such things," the Supreme Commander reminded him, "At least allow me to go with you."

Tyron sighed as he brushed off the arm-sleeve. He looked around at the suite prepared for him. It was nice for the most part. Rancor leather chairs, Kassyyykk wood tables. Tauntaun fur carpet. Frozen crystals from Illum.

"No," he shook his head, "We need to show strength. No greater strength than walking unarmed into the night on a hostile planet. And no sending people to follow me."

Pealleon face-palmed himself. This was the stupidest idea he had ever heard. Stupider than allow Joruus C'boath to run the Force side of the Empire during Thrawn's reign. He shuddered tl think of what might happen.

But there was no stopping the Grand Moff. He had spoken after-all. So, he stayed back and allowed him to move into the night. As the door closed, he turned to a Stormtrooper commando near the door.

"Camouflage and follow him," he ordered.

"But he said…"

"Do you really want the leader of the Empire to be killed by a mob?" he demanded, cutting off any further protest, "Now get going."

"Yes, sir," the soldier said and pushed a small button on his chest. He disappeared from sight and the door opened and closed to the suite as if on its own accord.

* * *

Luke sat on the doorstep outside Leia's apartment. He sat on bended knees. His head hung low and his arms were splayed outwards on the ground. He could feel the floor rippling from her approach, could sense the living Force around her. As he sat there, he did not know how she would take what he'd have to say.

Leia could be described as a firebrand in the Force. Her personal grace did not factor into how the Force portrayed her. She was the mother of a new generation of Jedi, and that responsibility turned the grace of the politician-mother into a blazing fire of which the Force was feed new energy and beings to control and be controlled. The sound of bags were the first thing he heard and next he heard her pause.

"What are you doing outside my door Luke?" she asked. He opened his eyes only then and looked up at her. A serious grin played across his face.

"Do you trust me, Leia?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, carrying several big bags of groceries. They seemed to be having a hard time remaining balanced in her arms.

"I have a plan to end this war," he said, "But I need you to trust me."

Leia raised an eyebrow. "Of course I trust you," she replied, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because," he said, slowly rising, "What I plan to do will not be politically correct for the Republic. In fact, no one will understand it. I have had a vision through the Force, Leia. I know what needs to be done to end this war and make everyone stronger. Do…you…trust…me?"

Leia looked into her brothers eyes. She saw a complete confidence she rarely saw in him. She knew about his experience with Moff Dray and she had heard Han describe him as "well…more complete". And now, she began to understand what that meant.

"I do," she nodded his head, "Do what needs to be done."


	7. Patterns of the Soul

**Chapter 6: Patterns of the Soul**

The sleepy citizens of Plia, the capitol-city of the mostly human Ropalo agricultural colony, the farthest member of the Terran Empire, awoke to a brilliant day. Then again, all days were brilliant here, with her twin suns Dinato and her sister Xtipima, seeming to circle the planet simultaneously in an endless dance, but indeed, it was not the suns that whirled around the planet, but it was the rotation of the planet which made one full rotation every seventeen hours.

The colony was only seventy years old, established by mostly humans from the nation-state of Greece on Earth. Greece had been all but destroyed during an earthquake eighty years beforehand, and many of the survivors, two thousand and three to be exact, decided they needed to leave Earth forever. They had escaped the ravaging appitites of the Minbari conquerors.

The Narn War had ended by that time, and one of the concessions of the humiliated Narn Regime was a planet they called Ul'Si'Ed, which translates to "Absurd Planet." The Greek leader, a man by the name of Milo, saw the planet and after months of wrangling with bureaucrats, had at last gained the right to relocate his people there. The natives of the planet, a race called Ult, blue-skinned and about the size of a six year old child, welcomed the new-comers with open arms, grateful to be rid of the Narn and Centauri oppressors. They were so eager to make new friends and be rid of their old evils that they even asked if the humans had a new name to call their planet, and welcomed the name Ropalo, a Greek word for "Club."

The planet was small, barely twice the size of Earth's moon, which had been called by that time, Luna, to avoid confusing it with the billions upon millions of other moons that had been discovered and circled the other planets in the Galaxy. Ropalo had no moons, but, it did have a satellite, an asteroid they called "Submission", a name apt for an asteroid, though almost half the size of the planet, had settled in comfortably around the orbit of the planet. The asteroid acted like a magnet, dragging storm fronts away from the mainland and into the Reveal Ocean which covered eighty percent of the planet yet ensuring the rainstorms came over the farmlands of the lower Bludgeon Continent.

The settlement had bloomed very well. Everything that was touched seemed to grow healthy. Indeed, they were the healthiest people in the alliance, and they had little in the way of modern conveniences, deciding to abandon technology for the most part in favor of a society of simplicity.

The people went about their daily morning business, going to work and heading to school. One of these people, caught in the midst of the traffic of 15,000 people, was a human, taller than most of the inhabitants. He wasn't the most sociable of people, and his answers were short and to the point, but, he was a generous soul when people needed it. No one had ever seen his face; as he preferred to keep a cloak on at all times and the hood drawn over his face, but, they had so far had no need to fear him, and in the six months he had been there, they called him "Hood" in honor of his cloak.

His eyes cast about, and he saw what he was after. Walking with very even steps, he approached a small flower stand and he stopped by the side of a young woman who on her way to work stopped by the flowers each day to smell them.

He had come to respect her and trust her so much she was the closest thing to a friend he had. It was hard for him to get friendships with people due to his line of work. It was too…dangerous.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "Hello Cydia."

She started and turned to him, and seeing him smiled, "Well, well. If it isn't the mysterious marauder."

"I wouldn't call myself that," he shrugged, "I'm just a simple man."

"A man of mystery," she corrected him, "I don't even know your name."

"To know my name," he said slowly, "is to know pain, death and loneliness. To know my name is to burden and lose. To know my name is to know sacrifice."

"The poet," she laughed, "Are you going to walk with me today to my work?"

"I've never had a knack for computers," he lied. But, he was so proficient at lying that it was the truth.

"Too bad," she sighed, "I really wish I could convince you to work with me."

If only he could. But he had something important to tell her. "Listen," he said, "I'm leaving Ropalo."

"You are?" she asked, looking at him in surprise, "When?"

"I have friends coming to pick me up today," he said.

"Where are you going to?" she asked.

"I can't tell you that," he replied.

"When will you come back?" she asked.

"Come back?" he said to himself, as if he had never thought about it, "Come back. Why would I come back?"

A silence fell between the two. The old woman who kept the flower stand, looking at them and realizing the importance of the conversation, ducked and went about making sure the grass around the wheels weren't flattened.

"We all care for you here," she replied at long last.

"We?" he asked sternly, "Or you?"

She grew frustrated and said, "What do you want me to say? I have grown very fond of you in the time I have known you. And I know that I know nothing about you, but, I want you to come back to me."

He stood, staring down at her, not saying anything. Deep were his thoughts. So deep, she would have drowned in their depth. But, slowly, he laughed. The laugh got stronger and louder, until it drew the attention of people around him.

"I think I might," he chuckled, "I do not know when or if I shall come back, but if I do, I promise to help fulfill your desire to have a family. For you to have children and a good life. Expect when you least expect me to show up."

"May I at least know your name?" she asked, and turned, and he was already gone.

He had never been long in goodbyes. He now walked through the streets, stopping once to help out a small child who had fallen and scrapped his knees. But, he made more or less of a straight line to the outskirts of the city, not really looking sideways or slowing. No one thought much about it, leaving Hood to himself.

As soon as he was outside the city, he pulled the hood off his face and if anyone had been there to see it, would have seen a man with long blond hair which was tied back in a ponytail, a scar from the top of his ear that went down the length of his face to the cleft in his chin. The blue eyes seemed dead and anyone who could have looked into his eyes would have known what he had been or maybe still was. A cold-blooded killer.

* * *

"Is that the man you are after?" the Governor asked, standing with the two black-leathered men on the roof of his office, who were looking through binoculars that could pick up details even at fifty miles.

"Yes," the older looking of the two said, "Chen."

"You haven't told me what he did," the beanpole man said, "And I want to know."

"It is business of the Imperial Telepathic Brigades," the older man, who was obviously the leader said, "That's all you need know."

When the God-Emperor John Sheridan had been in power, a little known project of his was to create entire colonies of telepaths, bred to be massive intelligence networks against enemies of the Terran Empire. They soon had rivaled even the Anla'Shok in the brutality they had enforced upon the citizens of the Empire. Even with Vir Cotto in the lead, the Telepathic Brigades had not been disbanded, but had actually increased, giving the nature of the frayed front-lines.

"It my business now," he replied with a snarl, "He's on my colony."

"Your colony?" he raised an eyebrow and his tone maintaining the very cold professionalism of his line of work, "This is Terran Imperial territory. You forget your place. Wherever someone is in the Empire, we have complete jurisdiction. Coming to you is a mere courtesy. But, to be fair to you, he tried to leave the Brigades six years ago. When we tried to stop him from leaving, he murdered three men. We must have him."

"Why is he so important?" the Governor asked, unwilling to be intimidated, "You could just shoot him and be over with it. Why arrest him?"

"That's not the way of the Brigades," the man said, looking at him, "We want to help him out. Let him know we still love and care for him. The Division takes care of its own."

The Governor sighed and turned to look out the window. "I don't like things like this happening on my colony," he muttered, "We're always a peaceful planet that causes our neighbors no-"

He crumpled to the floor with a thud as he was knocked across the back of the head. He wasn't dead, but, as the man bent over and put his hand on his head, the memory of the meeting was forcibly removed and a false memory implanted. One needed to be a strong telepath in order to do such a thing in such a short time.

The Governor awoke a couple hours later, and grabbing his head, said aloud, "I shouldn't drink so much."

* * *

Chen continued walking, the farmlands stretching in every direction. He could hear domesticated animals mooing in the distance, sounding their calls of either mating or dominance. The dirt clung to the ground, and there was almost a spring to the turf as he walked.

"Well well well," a voice said from behind him and he halted his forward movements.

"About time you showed up Jacobs," he said, his hands hanging loose to his side. "I thought you'd never come extract me from the backwater hole."

"Come now Chen," said the voice and he turned. It was the older man, his hair gray with streaks of black in it. "You are too valuable an asset to lose."

Chen snorted, "I doubt that very much."

"Do you have the information?" Jacobs asked, his men closely behind him.

"How do I know that you will keep the end of the bargain if I tell you where it is?," Chen asked, "This information I have on the Hand is dangerous dear Jacobs. Not to be taken lightly."

"Of course not," Jacobs replied, sliding a hand into a pocket of his coat jacket, "Ropala wasn't exactly the dream job. But I have a good position, just for you. But first I need the information."

Chen reached into his pants pocket and slid out a data crystal. "Everything I have is on this data crystal. You'll need my password to get on it."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Jacobs said. Chen frowned, but he didn't have time to react when all three men pulled their PPG's and fired a succession of rounds into his body. He collapsed backwards, his body riddled with holes. Jacobs smiled and walked towards him slowly, watching the struggled last breaths.

"That's what we have death bed scans for," Jacobs said, and grabbing his head between his hands, thrust his mind into Chen's dying mind.

* * *

Slowly she opened her eyes, the ceiling above the bed looking nothing like anything she had ever seen. Never had she been inside a hospital before, even at birth. Not even to visit anyone. But she knew enough to realize it was a hospital. The smell of sickness and death was pretty heavy in this building.

The bedsheets pressed down on her body, unwilling to relent in it's pursuit of holding her captive to the cage of cloth and frames.

"I see you're awake," a male doctor said, the dark skinned human walking into the room. He had a pepper and salt trimmed beard on his face, and he walked with a stiff posture. "It was touch and go for a while, and the doctors on Earth didn't like my requesting you be brought out here, but Babylon 5 has the best medial facilities in the whole galaxy. Certainly the Empire at least."

"Excuse me?" she asked, frowning, and pressing against her chest, "I though I was dead. That horrible man shot me."

The man looked at her with a look of patronizing disbelief. "I'm sorry," he said, picking up the medical chart, "But you were they only one not shot in that building, unless that blood on your body was somehow transplanted from your veins to your clothing without incision. Truth be told, besides the two weeks in your coma, the only thing of note was the dislocated hip."

She frowned, none of the information making any sense. In fact, some reason she felt odd. Certain things were missing, although she couldn't put her finger on it. But she knew that she had been shot. She could remember the burning plasma as it tore through her chest.

"I'm not sure I follow," she finally admitted, "I was shot and killed. I was attacked. I'm sorry Doctor..."

"Franklin," he said, as if meant something to her. When he realized that recognition was not forth-coming he spoke slower. "Stephan Franklin. Come on, Mr. Bester. You've known me for years. We worked in the rebellion for years. Don't tell me you forgot who I am."

"Bester?" she frowned, and seeing a mirror across the room, she pushed herself up. Where she was sitting, there was a man. A short man. Dark hair, well-combed. A permanent scowl seemed etched on his face. She looked down, and saw that it was a man's body. She looked back up at her reflection, and the reflection did everything she did.

"My name is...Alfred Bester?" she asked.

"Yes," Franklin laughed, "Although I don't know what you'd call yourself."

"No," Lotaria said, a smile crossing her and the reflections face, "I think I know exactly what's going on now."


	8. Efforts of War

**Chapter 7: Efforts of War**

"What you do not realize is that the Great Machine itself is a product of a time beyond imagination of the Younger Races," Draal said, sitting at a table. Malcolm also sat at the same table, some of the rest of the Rangers having joined him. Draal had invited and they had accepted to join him at his table, even though it was quiet obvious the man himself barely left the confines of the ventrical which hooked him up to the Great Machine. "It was a time far beyond the reckoning of your own understanding of time, when the First Ones were masters and yet fearful of the Unknown."

"We understand the Great Machine is ancient," David said, drumming his fingers on the table. "And as such we respect it and the awesome power it represents. And it's that power we are in need of. Right now."

Draal sat there, the weight of years bearing down on him. How little those in the room understood what really was going on here. These young people could only see the shiny future, never understanding what came beforehand. To them, it was all ancient history, dusty books forgotten except by those without lives. But to someone like him, the past, present and future was all one.

"The Hand is what powers the Great Machine," he said and everyone fell silent in a stunned silence. "When this was made, the Great Ones who built it could not find a power source to keep it running for all time. The Hand stepped in, providing that power while no one was looking. The Vorlons and Walkers thought they had stumbled onto something fantastic. But the truth is, if we move against the Hand, the Great Machine will lose power and we will be done for. I doubt we'd even be able to strike a blow for this Galaxy's freedom before they completely shut down everything of this great and wondrous machine."

David sat there, the realization hard to accept. He lowered his head, everything of his life seeming to not even make sense anymore. The greatest tool they had wasn't even a product of good? It was leashed to the evil of the universe? Somehow that did not seem to be possible.

There was something his father had said once, "Evil is most powerful when it will give us a weapon and we do not use it. It is then that it kills us." His father had known all about evil. For he had been evil. Pretending to be an angel of light, only to be a harbinger of pain and suffering.

"We do what we can for the right," David at long last said, "No matter the cost to us personally."

Draal looked at him, a weariness in his eyes. He was tired, even though the Great Machine was capable of keeping him alive and continually rejuvenated. He had lived a very long life by the accounting of his Minbari race.

"That is easy for you to say," he smiled kindly, "You do not have knowledge and power untold."

"But I do," David said.

Draal smirked. "Really?" he asked.

Malcolm and the other Rangers looked at him confused. What did David mean by that? He was a mortal man. Ranger, perhaps, but a mortal man nonetheless. A man who would grow old if the fates permitted and would die.

"In me lies the culmination of a million stories, a million hopes and dreams," he said, his voice growing more and more fervent as he spoke. "I am the product of a million missed chances, a million opportunities taken. The What-ifs and Could-haves of all those who have gone before me are wrapped up in my flesh. I am a story of a thousand generations, and the chain continues through me. And those who will follow. All the inventions and ideas of my family since the very beginning are wrapped up in this tabernacle of flesh. No, good Draal, my death would not end it. Because the possibilities are endless of what my life could be, and those that follow. So yes, I am a keeper of unlimited power. As is every one here. From my wife Sarah, to Malcolm, my strong and faithful friend. Our deaths are not the end of us, they only open the possibilities of what could have been and might have by an untold flood."

Draal sat there, as did everyone else. They were moved by his passionate words. David had been a leader among them, but he led not by fear, but by inspiring his followers with grand visions of their own selves, that they were not merely foolish for following him. But they were strong.

"That's true," the Minbari acknowledged, "We are all holders of potential. Even stars cannot take in the power of stories or they will be sated on the first sip. But that is not the same as real power. The power of knowledge and technology. These are the things that make the universe run, not unfulfilled potential."

"Then use that power to help us!" David urged him, "This battle cannot be won without the aid of the Great Machine. We need it."

"I am sorry," Draal shook his head, "I cannot risk the great machine, not even for you. It's not a war machine."

David sat there, staring at Draal as if he intended to bore a hole through him. Finally, he shook his head and said, "Then we have nothing to speak of." He stood slowly, and without a word, left the room. With a hand motion his Rangers followed him, casting longing glances back at Draal who remained seated. Saying nothing.

* * *

"This is the planet?" Vir asked, standing in the darkened room of the war room in the Palace on Centauri Prime.

Jacobs stood before him in a black trenchcoat, the long tails falling midway down his calves. The screen before them projected a holographic layout of the Galaxy, the viewscreen currently zoomed in to a planet between the Interstellar Alliance and the Terran planet was a rouge asteroid, the planet aglow in red.

"Zalecious Prime," the agent said, the military command of the Empire gathered behind him, "It's not on any of the hyperspace lanes, so the only way one could get there is by having jump capable engines. And the fact it's not in a planetary systems means it's continually floating through space, so it's always moving."

"Forgive me," Lord-General Marrago asked, lifting a bony finger and pointing at the screen. "But wouldn't the fact it moves make it impossible to track?"

The years had not been kind to Marrago. Much of the muscle had vanished from him and his once refined skin was sun-pocked marked. His hair was stiff and gray, but he continued to bear himself as if he were twenty years younger. Vir looked at him with pity.

After this operation I think it's time to replace him with someone younger, he thought to himself. Too bad there aren't many candidates.

"It's basically moving in a straight pattern," the telepath said, his finger swiping through the air in the direction the planet would be headed towards, "So it won't be hard to track down."

"Are you sure this is the planet?" Vir asked, wanting to make sure. "The Hand is pushing us hard. If we are wrong, we won't get another shot at this."

"It's a near eighty-nine percent chance it's the place," Jacobs said.

Vir frowned and stared at the screen. Eighty-nine percent certainty wasn't good enough. If they were wrong, they were going to be in a bad way should the Hand take advantage of the lapse in their defenses. The only way they'd win is by committing roughly two-thirds of the Imperial Fleet to this battle.

"We can't risk it not being the planet though," Kulomani said, the Brakiri general having remained silent most of the meeting. "I am too tired of war for us not to risk it."

Kulomani had also had a bad go these last few years. He had seen the most combat, and it was wearing him out. The man was loosing weight all the time, to the point of being considered not good. He had literally seen entire worlds perish in the wars. It was getting too much for him.

Vir nodded. "If you all want to, than we shall do it," he said, rubbing his head, "Now please leave. I need a moment to myself."

"Of course," they said, bowing to him as they left the room.

It was hard for Vir Cotto. As he stood there, alone, looking at maps and charts, all he could think of was how he wished the conflicts were done and over with. For over thirty years the galaxy had known one conflict after the other. It was simply far too much death for any man.

"Prepare yourself," Matthew Gideon said from behind him and Vir rolled his eyes. He hated how the techno-mage would just randomly appear. He'd gotten use to it, by many years of this happening. But he hated it all the same.

"Why?" Vir asked.

"The attack has begun," Gideon said, and a massive explosion rent through the Palace.


	9. End of the Line

**Chapter 8: The End of The Line**

Four months had passed. The Terran Empire reeled from the savage blows that the enemy had inflicted on them. The Interstellar Alliance had been ravaged and what was left was a shell of former power and glory. There was something very...Roman in the way the Hand continually marched, pushing further and further into enemy territory. No stop, no rest. An inexorable movement that ground down the defenses of the enemies they encountered. Planets were a washed in fire and death, and all resistance crumbled.

The Imperial Leadership of the Terran Empire fell back to _Babylon 5_, abandoning everything for a tighter defense. There was simply too much to defend. Perhaps they stood a chance in a very compact formation.

* * *

_Stars. There are so many stars. Each one a ship, a fighter that lights the galaxy for those who but looked._

Prince Vintari, the son of Emperor Cartagia stood on the observation deck of _Babylon 5_. All these thoughts passed through his mind. He would let that young what's-his-name continue leading the fleets in the field. And he'd let Lord-General Marrago continue planning the overall strategy. He was simply here to give a good face for the people of the Empire.

"Your Highness," a voice said from behind him, and he turned slightly to see a small human with black hair and black leather uniform approach him.

"Yes?" Vintari asked, frowning, "May I help you?"

"I was going to ask the same for you," the man said, "My name is Alfred Bester. I am a telepath and a pretty strong one, not that I boast of course."

"Of course," the Prince nodded although he couldn't be sure just how sincere the proclamation of modesty could be if one touted about it. "But no, no, I am fine."

"Really?" the man asked, moving to his side, "Your empire stands on the edge of ruin. Your emperor lies in a coma due to the injuries he received on Centauri Prime. Your military is about to revolt against you in protest to the never-ending war. There's alot of crap going down."

"Yes," Vintari nodded his head, his youthful complexion hiding his inner turmoil, "It is a bunch of 'crap' as you so succinctly put it."

"Words come easy for me," Bester said, moving closer to him. Vintari could feel the Imperial Guard stiffen as he moved closer. "As does leadership. I am a man of many talents. One of my talents if very helpful for one wanting to shed the responsibility of command for a while."

"Oh really?" Vintari asked, folding his arms. "I am responsible for forty billion subjects. The war makes no differance. Nor does the fact the Emperor is indisposed. We must carry on."

"Yes," Bester smiled, now at his side. "A nation needs it's leader. Without it, they would fall."

"Of course," Vintari agreed, his accent rolling his words to make it sound so rich and full of life.

"That's why you shall die," Bester said and throwing his hands out, the windows shattered to the observation deck.

The guards were sucked out into space and Vintari was pulled out with them, the vacuum of air trying to take him with it. His hands desperately clutched at a twisted piece of framing for the shattered viewport. The man sneered at him, turning and walking away. The fierce howling of the air drowned out his hearing, but slowly he pulled himself up and in, knowing that emergency bulkhead would slid into place. And he really didn't want to be caught out here in case his body was caught in it.

* * *

Alarms blared throughout the station as Lord-General Jonah Marrago walked with a limp around the Operations Center of _Babylon 5_. Explosion after explosion shook the inside of the station and he was at a lose of what was going on.

"Brown Sector has sustained fifty percent internal damage," one of the Ops technicians reported as another explosion shook the station. "The entire section has just been gutted. Emergancy bulkheads have been erected at any hull breach we might have."

He rubbed his forehead, the loose skin dragging as he pulled his fingers together and spread them out. This was not what was supposed to happen. These people were supposed to die in glorious combat. Not internal explosions.

"What exactly is going on?" he demanded, "Are these bombs?"

"I really don't know sir," she replied, "But whatever is going on, it's coming this way."

So much could possibly be happening that it was hurting his brain to think of. Any number of things could be going on. A return of Shadows. Temporal vortex. Bombs. Invisible warriors. Cloaked ships. Hopefully that wasn't going to be the case, because he'd hate to find out what was going on.

"Seal off Green Sector," he ordered, slapping the railing near the command console, "Get a containment crew down there."

"Jump gate activated," the navigations officer called from his station.

"There was no scheduled visits today!" he snarled, spinning around, "Activate all defenses. Scramble the Epsilon Defense Fleet to move into Battle Formation Gamma Baker. We will make sure whoever comes through will die."

* * *

d out of hyperspace, it's weapons firing at the Terran fleet gathered before it. A massive wave of star-ship preceded it, firing as well, providing cover for it. The Hand had come to eradicate Babylon 5, the last great hope of the Empire. Once it was destroyed, all people would cower before the might of the Hand and the war would be over.

The space became a flood of directed energy blasts from weapons. Ship to ship weapons roared and defensive fire zig-zagged throughout space. And the Hand marched on.

* * *

"We got more wounded incoming," Doctor Sarah Chamber called out, Stephan Franklin rubbing his brow as he rushed over to the triage section of sickbay. A constant stream of people were flowing towards his medlab, and he hated to think they were going to run out of space as fast as it was threatening to happen.

"I want minor injuries to remain in the main medlab," he ordered, working his way past patients, "Secondary injuries will be moved to Medlab 2. I want Medlab 3 and 4 to be devoted to those who need surgery. Triage doctors go to those rooms. Nurses and pediatricians and whomever else we got, they will remain here and help out the less injured."

He stepped out of the door, moaning filling the room. And there was Bester, standing there. The man wasn't doing anything, taking up space and that annoyed him. He grabbed him and pushed him to the side, out of his way.

"If you aren't going to help, leave!" he growled.

"No Doctor!" Bester shouted, lifting his hand, "It is you who will leave."

A flash of light surrounded him and spreading outwards, the entire medlab and outside erupted in fire and death. Franklin was thrown down the hallway and smashed into a bulkhead, his head cracking open. Blood splattered against the wall as he hit, his body slamming down against the floor. The bulkhead above him shattered and collapsed, pinning him underneath it.

* * *

The Imperial Fleet fired everything they had, ships moving in to try to flank the Hand ships. But more stars came flying towards them, each one firing their powerful weapons. Ships hulls fractured, fire consuming them.

One sat on the bridge of the Abyss Destroyer, the main weapon charging. He drummed his fingers on the throne, the high metal back sizzling from the hatred and base desires that poured from him. No one dared look upon him.

He wore black armor, a smoky haze surrounding the black metal. On the pieces of armor were etched screaming faces. Moans rose from his armor, which not only was made of metal, but also subjugated souls. A midnight black cloak was bound on his shoulders, spikes rising from the shoulder plates. A pillar of black fire was seen where the hed would have been, and a crown of silver and diamonds sparkled.

"Is the weapon ready to fire?" he asked, his voice of infinite rage, timeless love, unending hate.

"We will be able to fire in ten minutes, My Lord," his servant said, standing near the front of the bridge, his face turned away from his Lord and Master. He might have once been Minbari, but his skin was cracked, his eyeballs a milky mass held by the thin film that encased them.

"Very good," he smiled, leaning back in the chair, clasping his hands together. The gauntlets the hands were in made a sizzling sound as they came together. "Begin the assault on Earth. They will pay for birthing the man who made this Empire."

"Yes, My Lord," the servant acknowledged the order.

* * *

"We've got incoming ship dropping out of hyperspace at the very edge of the solar system," a controller said, calling back to Sol's Defensive Commander.

"Whose ships?" General Sarah Chambers asked, swerving around in her chair from her cup of tea.

The Controller went ghostly white. "The Hand," she replied.

* * *

"It's time," David Martel said, sitting on his ship. It was a White Star, one of the original models. He had saved it from becoming scrap by bribing the manager of the decommission center at the edge of Drazi space to give it to him.

His crew had for months searched for the planet that the Great God was coming through. They knew a portion of his soul was already on this side, leading the assault on the powers of the Galaxy. But he was not completely across, and if they attacked now, while his soul was still transitioning from one universe to the next, they'd effectively kill him.

And with his death, the Hand would cease to be.

He looked at his crew. Nafeel, the hearty Narn. Tirk, loyal Drazi. His wife Sarah, who had stuck through it with him. And others who had joined him recently. This would be hard to accept their deaths, but they did so for a greater cause.

"We live for the One," he said, turning towards the viewscreen, "We die for the one."

The White Star exited hyperspace, and where a planet should have been, was instead a massive ring. Sickly green light throbbed for it, and they could see a black cloud seeping through it, heading in a single direction.

"Where's the planet?" Malcolm frowned, squinting at his panel, "There surely was a planet."

"Zalecious Prime," David shrugged his shoulder, "it would appear is a doorway, not a planet. Either way, we go in and destroy it. Full speed ahead."

* * *

"Increase forward firepower!" Marrago ordered, the station shaking as another wave of stars flew in a strafing run, plastering the hull with fire.

"We're down to thirty percent effective firepower," the weapons officer replied, a series of explosions erupting from the wall, "We aren't getting anymore."

"We won't give up!" he slammed his fist in his palm, "We won't."

"They're charging their main gun!" another officer reported, "We've only got a minute to firing!"

* * *

The fifty weapons platforms surrounding Earth continued firing a barrage of missiles, the missiles flying through space at the oncoming ships. Their enemies were not flying the traditional star shaped fighters, but they were flying an armada of ships similar to Minbari cruisers. They were only six times larger, six times thicker armor and six times as armed. The missiles splashed against the hulls, sections blowing away, but these missiles could not completely penetrate the seventy feet of hull.

The ships roared past them, many flying right through the defensive platforms, destroying them as they rammed into them. Damaged though they were, they continued onwards, nearing planetary range.

* * *

"This ring is too powerful to destroy!" Malcolm shouted, their weapons striking the energy barrier protecting the ring, which absorbed each blast with a wavy effect on the shields. The White Star flew around the outside of the ring, the whole thing larger than even Z'ha'dum had been.

"We can't just give up!" David growled, his fist clenching, "We can destroy it! Heck, they don't even have a fleet protecting it!"

"That's because the shields are too strong for anything we might have," Sarah replied, pushing the button to fire the weapons. "We're draining the weapons faster than we can even think.

David sunk his head into his hands. No, this wasn't happening! He had spent years tracking this thing, trying to find it. He was this close to defeating the Hand, and was it really just going to end like this? Even David of Old had slain the giant Goliath, and that had been with a pebble! Surely this was no different.

"We can't destroy it?" David asked, hating the words as he spoke them.

"Perhaps you can't," a voice said. A flash of orange appeared on the deck and it condensed, becoming a holographic figure. It was Draal, Keeper of the Great Machine. His arms were folded and he looked very sad. "But I can."

The transmission ended and David saw a massive vortex open from hyperspace. The Great Machine arose, the machine looking like a city of metal and stone, flying on a sphere. The city glowed as the main weapons of the Great Machine went into effect, and soon massive beams of energy lanced forth, slicing through the shields and striking the gate. The shields collapsed, and the beam kept slicing, cutting great sections from the gateway.

* * *

"Fire when ready, my servant," the Great God said, smiling as his victory was near.

His servant smiled, and turned to his crew. It was time to do what was needed to be done. Destroy the infidels that dare inhabit that station. They still had many ships, firing away with everything they had, but it was nothing but pests. With the Great God on board, they would not be harmed.

Suddenly, a scream rent through the ship as the Great God felt the Gateway collapsing, being destroyed. His life force was split in two, and there was no way he could save the gate. He thrashed around, tearing at his chest. The Dea-Mans, the tortured prisoners, his ghastly priests, his warriors. They all felt his pain and wailed, gnashing their teeth.

The great soul of the ship screamed in pain as well and the weapon misfired. Hie fleet became confused, standing still, unsure of what to do. Forces all across the galaxy stood at a stand still, suddenly unsure of what to do.

"The Gateway!" he screamed, "It's under attack!"

* * *

Lotaria had been moving to the Operations deck, a path of destruction behind her. No one had dared resist her, thinking she was this Alfred Bester. Fools! But then she felt the Great God...dying. She stood there, eyes wide. No, this could not be!

There was a popping noise, and Galen and Gideon moved to either side of her. She did not move, the dark red lights of battle throbbing around her, as if they were a heartbeat for _Babylon 5_. A heartbeat she detested.

"Surrender!" they said in unison, pointing the tips of their staffs towards her. "We know who you are, foul prophetess! But we know you can be redeemed. Surrender, and we will spare your life."

"No!" she screamed and with a wave and twirl of the male body she now posed, stretched out her arms to strike them both down. Galen and Gideon fired red light at her, spells of death. They hit her and as her body fell to the ground, her last though was, I live and die for Thee.

* * *

The Terrans had rallied, and they had lined up on either side of the Abyss Destroyer, firing massive broadsides that were unending. Explosions shook the ship, and most everyone was already dead. The Great God was paralyzed, unable to react. And with him, his ship was.

His ship had meant to be an axe. Cutting through the unfaithful. He had come to proclaim the truth of the universe, convert everyone to a way that would save them all from the unbelief of others. But now he was immobilized, watching everything fall apart around him.

He would live though. Even if this body failed and he would die, a portion of his soul would always exist. He would never truly be dead, and he'd be able to inhabit the bodies of those who were mean-spirited, self-righteous. Hypocrites and liars. Those who looked for the truth but were unable to find it themselves.

An explosion ripped through the bridge, and his servant was cast to the ground. The ship was in turmoil, begging him to save it. But he could not. His soul had also provided the shielding for the gateway. And with it falling apart, he was too divided.

"Forgive me," his servant said, his once red blood now the dark ooze of the blessed.

"There is nothing to forgive," the Great God said, closing his eyes. "Sleep now. We shall save these people. One way or the other."

He felt the fires of death consume him as the whole ship erupted, flames roaring up to take him away. Oh yes, he'd live, but only a mere shadow of himself.


	10. For Everything: A Time and Place

**Chapter 9: For Everything, A Time and Place**

2285: The year the War of the Hand came to an end. The Battle of Epsilon Eridani and the final offensive against Earth were seen as turning points in the annuals of history. There are many historians that claimed that these stood next to the great battle of history. It stands next to Waterloo, The Fall of Earth, Z'ha'Dum.

The "death" of the Great God saw the complete rout of the Hand. It seemed as if with a blink of an eye, the galaxy which had stood at the brink of destruction, was now able to breath a sigh of relief. The end came so swiftly, that in many cases people simply refused to believe. Others wondered if it had been a horrible dream.

Prince Vintari was the sole survivor with any royalty in him after the battle ended. He rose to the throne, and his first act was a massive rebuilding. The Interstellar Alliance, broken with their wars, joined the Terran Empire in the first cross-political alliance the Terran Empire had ever made, and the long process of reconstruction was well underway. But the Terran Empire, once mistress of the galaxy, would take centuries to completely fix.

President David Corwin resigned his office after the end of the war and getting on a well-used ship with his family, departed known space. No one knew why he resigned, as he was such a good President he could have easily continued his job for another couple of decades. In the year 2300, Emperor Vintari received a package. In the package was a book. It was the autobiography of David Corwin, explaining the rise of the John Sheridan and his own meager role in the events that had transpired. That was the last thing anyone ever heard of him.

Galen and Gideon the Technomages withdrew themselves from the events of the galaxy, preferring to go their own way. Every once in a while, they be seen, doing some act or just traveling. They never responded to anyone who called their names.

Lord-General Jonah Marrago retired from military life in 2286, retiring to what remained of Centauri Prime. He became a recluse, haunted every night by the bloodshed he had seen. In 2290, he committed suicide by taking Levarria Poison, taste-less, odor-less and one of the more lethal poisons known to the Minbari. He left no note explaining his actions.

General Kulomani retired from military life when he learned of the death of his close friend. He had barely retired when the Brakiri Banking Society asked him to be their Chairman. He accepted, working hard to reconstruct the Brakiri Credit, one of the mainstays of Imperial currency.

Perhaps the most touching event of the post-war Empire came in 2289. It was touching and iconic. The Emperor decided Babylon 5 had served its purpose, and new facilities had been finished on Narn for the Imperial Government. One duty remained though:

The station was being decommissioned. Babylon 5 that mighty station that had survived so many wars, was being retired, with full military honors. No boom. No explosion. It was sad to see the old girl be retired.

"Most of the people have already been sent away," the young Captain said, standing in the Operations Deck.

"Has the course been laid in?" General Kulomani asked, looking at the young man.

By all the Dead! Were all these soldiers so young? This captain had seen ten years service, but the young human, with a buzz-cut looked nothing but a child. Kulomani had never been that young.

"Yes sir," the human said with a nod, "She'll go into the Epsilon sun. All it needs is for me to push this button."

The Brakiri looked down at the switch that the man pulled out of his pocket. On it, all the lights would shut down and everything would be diverted to the engines. The old gal would be sent to the sun, to sleep in a fiery death. No great contest of arms. No roar of a lion. It would go to sleep in a whisper.

"Report to the ship," he said, holding out his hand. "Wait for me there. I'll push the button. I'll take care of it."

The human nodded and handing the device to him, turned and headed out of the operations deck. His footsteps soon were cut off as the door to the deck slid shut. Shutting Kulomani in.

He stood there, he didn't know how long. A minute. Ten, twenty. An hour. Two hours. Days. Weeks. He wasn't sure. The galaxy could have burned and been reborn for all he knew.

But he could feel it. All the pain. All the wars. The bloodshed. The haunted these walls. This station had been built for one purpose only. Subjugation of the people. The guilt of all the deaths that he had ordered pained him greatly.

He remembered John Sheridan, telling him they built this station to proclaim a new day for all people. That they refused to bow down and be afraid to anyone but the God-Emperor who sat on the Imperial Throne. He was the father they all desired. The one they needed. The one they were worthy of.

He gripped the device firmly in his hand and walked around the upper level. He reached the door and it opened. He stepped to the edge to enter the hallway beyond and stopped. He glanced back at the operations station.

He felt ghosts were here. Time to let them sleep. The system was set up so as he walked, each section would shut down by his presence. A domino effect.

"Goodnight," he said with a sigh, and with a push of a button, the lights shut off.


	11. Behind the Scenes

**Behind the Scenes**

One step closer. One step closer to the end of the series. While this book is the obvious conclusion to the War of the Hand and the main storyline, there is one more chapter to go for this intense and overarching saga.

Sadly this book ended up being far shorter than my original plans. I became focused on getting the story done. Completed as fast as I could. That and being sheer exhausted from working on this series. I sacrificed the meat of the story to getting this book done and cranked out for the reader, whose stuck so far with these books. This is one story that will receive an edit.

Why would it need an edit? My original idea was to have the Lotaria/Corwin storyline take much longer. Get more in detail on what was going on. The Durkanis, why they wanted to go to war and more of the discussions to stay out of the war. A longer Final Offensive, with the attack on Centauri Prime more worked out. More Galen and Gideon. More of Draal and the Rangers of Valen. The Great God on the move.

Let's focus most of our efforts though on what did get into the story. Why I went the way I did. First I'd like to talk about the Interstellar Alliance.

One will notice that the sections with the Interstellar Alliance is much more detailed than my other stuff. It was actually written for an original story I had been working on that sadly had become too much like Babylon 5, thus requiring me to abandon the story. But, I still had the story lying about on my laptop. And considering how closely it resembled Babylon 5, I felt sure I could get away with using it. Also as a standard I'd like to get the entire series towards after my edits of the series are done.

In the books, which was a duo-logy, the Interstellar Alliance was actually the Terran Alliance. It was the successor to an old military government known as the Terran Empire. Jonah and others were characters of the story. The whole thing about Chen and the Telepathic Brigades? They were from Division 21 (I believe that's what they were called), a division created from telepathic, telekenetic and other gifted individuals. Basically PsiCorps for the series. In many ways, it would work as a much better, Alternative Universe than what I've created here. Perhaps one day I'll post it on the site.

Now, why Vintari? Why not Vir's daughter as being the successor when he goes into a coma (which I was going to talk about him dying during the Battle of Epsilon Eridani)? Vir's daughter would still have been much younger than Vintari and knowing Vir, he would have tried to shield her from the realities of the militaristic society that she was growing up in. Vintari, however, would have had no problem with stepping in, even if I've never mentioned him before in the series.

Lotaria was meant to stay dead when she was killed in the firefight in the Presidential Mansion on Earth. D-E-D dead. But it would be fun to get her to possess the body of Bester. I was planning on using more of the possessed Bester. Perhaps something for the edit. The idea of everyone of her attackers shooting each other while trying to shoot something unseen is in many ways a homage to every scene where a small creature goes berserk (whether a mouse, or a gremlin or an attack bug) and everyone keeps missing it. It's also a homage to a similar scene in the Star Trek espionage thriller fan fiction, Star Trek: Spy - Patriot - Soldier - Warrior, in which a telepath is able to get all her captors to see something not there and an entire bar gets shot up except for her and her friend.

The idea of the Great Machine being powered by the Hand was the result of the question, "why would the Great Machine never get involved with the wars against the Hand?". There had to be a real good reason for why it never got involved, more so than the Great Machine not getting involved with the Last Shadow War and Wars of the Empire. The last chapter was also supposed to delve into the aftermath of such a use of power against the Zalacieous Prime gateway.

A reoccurring theme with my God characters is the division of a God's strength equals their destruction. Basically, how would you kill...say...Zeus? Or God? They are all-powerful beings. The Great God, the God of Death, the God-Emperor Sheridan. These people are the deffintion of all-powerful. So, how would you kill them? A theory of mine states that a God can never be killed by mortals. We don't have the means to do it. But, if a God was to be divided in power, it would result in their being weak enough to be damaged beyond belief. It's when they're most vulnerable.

That's why the God of Death was destroyed while his gateway was destroyed. It's why the Great God was defeated while his spirit was still in half. It's the only way to defeat them. We also have the idea of a mean spirited creature being the remnants of a God afters its fall. In many ways, the Great God's aftermath (a man able to possess others but only a shadow of it's former glory) is a tribute to the Lord of the Rings villain Sauron. Sauron could never be full killed, but his downfall would break him, and he'd be a mean spirit, only able to cause mischief.

The backstory of Matthew Gideon was also something worth adding to the story. How he became a technomage. People mistook this as this book was when he became one. But, that's not the case. It's simply us learning the backstory to a character that's been a mover of the deeds of the entire series. Ever since we saw him try to get the Lumati to give Susan Ivanova a ride back to Human Remnant controlled space, he's always been there, moving the characters and the reader along.

So, that's it for now. When the edit comes out, there will be far more to talk about. But, until then, enjoy the upcoming final episode of this series.


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